


Names and Marks

by gor_mu



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Languages, M/M, Slavery, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-01-27 14:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12583760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gor_mu/pseuds/gor_mu
Summary: Tistan had no need or desire for a slave, and Aaru felt no more inclined to be one. But fate had other plans for them. As they reluctantly adjust to their new reality, they will become increasingly drawn into something much bigger than themselves.





	1. The young nobleman

_On the great stony gates of the ancient city of Corienor lay embedded three simple words that easily explained the ruthlessly mercantile society of the Vahay:_ brachāoro ve elēga _. Freedom is power._

**I**

**The young nobleman**

The large plaza was crammed with a thousand merchants of all trades, their multicolored stalls forming an intricate maze of strident hues, fragrances and sounds. He could smell everything at once: the burning incense of the wandering priests, the black pepper, mint, tamarind and saffron of the spice merchants, and the nauseatingly intrusive odour of shrimps and mollusks that any other day would have made his mouth water. The market's makeshift corridors could only be so wide, and from his cushioned palanquin he felt as if he was sailing a river of people hurrying up and down the labyrinthine thoroughfares like strong currents. Sitting across him, his mother huffed in overt annoyance.

"The market is unbearable at this hour. We should've come earlier." He'd heard the same complaint – with minor variations in phrasing – three times already. He rolled his eyes and went back to staring out of the small curtained window. By now he knew better than to talk back to her. The Slavers' Quarter was in the center of the Lion's Plaza, so there was no way to get to it without crossing through the never-ending market.

A small part of him still hoped his mother was just trying too hard to make a point, but he knew all too well that when Lady Verise Dresaceri spoke, her word was the law. Or at least in their household. His brows furrowed and the sense of dread mixed with the anger simmering deep in his stomach. He knew he only had himself to blame, letting himself get caught like that... He'd been careless, and now he was paying the price.

"My dear Tistan, would it kill you to stop sulking?" his mother looked at him exasperatedly. "You act as if I was taking you down Sorrows' Alley to nail you to a post and have you flogged. You're nine-and-ten now; it was well past time you owned serfs." He muttered a half-hearted 'yes, mother' and went back to his window. If only it were just about having his own slaves…

The two remained in silence for the remainder of their prolonged trip, until they reached Aose Dardio's Palace in the Slavers' Quarter, where the noble families of the Capital went when in need of refined serfdom. Tistan had met Dardio in person on one occasion; a lowborn merchant full of ambition who had climbed his way up to the Sealord's court. He found the man to be completely repulsive. It was fitting, as slavery was a repulsive trade, albeit a necessary one. The Dominion ran on slaves.

When they arrived, they were received by a wiry old man with greasy skin whose name he didn't care enough to register. The man wasn't all that interested in him either, as he fawned over his mother, telling her all about the latest batch of  _companions_ , Dardio's specialty. It was only when she told the man they were looking for a companion for her son that the slavemonger turned his attention to Tistan.

They were led to a large hall, with tall ceilings and wall-length paintings depicting scenes from legendary poems. Every inch of the spacious room was covered in magnificent jewels of all kinds. Renown beyond the city walls, Dardio's palace was a beautiful monstrosity, rivaling the Sealord's own villa. Right outside the hall, and visible through wide windows and an ornate gateway flanked by jade statues, was a large courtyard with fruit trees and flowers of a hundred colors. The air was heavy with rosewater scent. Waiting for them in the hall, about twenty young men and women dressed in fine white robes stood in line, all easily identified as slaves by the collars on their necks. The thin rings of gold clinging to the slaves' necks signaled this lot had been specifically trained to serve the higher classes. In the corner, a boy played a golden harp while a girl hummed a soft melody. They, too, wore white robes and golden collars, adorned with precious stones.

He observed the blank faces presented in front of him, all looking down meekly at the tiled floor. None of them could have been older than twenty, or younger than six-and-ten, and they were all indescribably beautiful. First in the line were two milk-skinned ones, a man and a woman, both tall and hairy with broad shoulders and hair as golden as their collars. The old slavemonger said they were Northerners from the lands of perpetual winter, and they had begun their servitude a mere two years ago. They supposedly spoke the common tongue, though when the man instructed the slave girl to demonstrate, the ungraciously thick accent made it damn near impossible to understand a word.

Next they were introduced to a lithe woman with smooth skin like onyx, whose dark eyes were as mysterious as they were enchanting. Once she'd been a Qoiri warrior who was captured in battle, but now she was trained to recite poetry and host a tea ceremony in the fashion of Capital courtiers. Her long hair was pulled back and decorated with embedded pearls, and her lips were plump and soft. She was beautiful, he thought,  _but keeping a Qoiri warrior in your house might as well be a bloody dead wish_.

Some of the slaves looked no different than Tistan himself: sun-kissed faces and amber eyes, like all the natives of the Vahay lands. These days, Vahay slaves were an uncommon sight, as the Dominion's rapid expansion across the continent provided a steady supply of (considerably less expensive) foreign slaves. Still, these Vahay were likely to come from the peripheral Sunset Isles, where there were no cities and people lived off fish. To a noble from the Capital like Tistan, they were just as foreign as the Northern savages or the Qoiri warrior.

The slavemonger observed closely as he inspected the lot, and he couldn't help but feel nervous. He wasn't even entirely sure what he was looking for. A friendly face, maybe? He silently cursed at his mother for putting him in this position.  _Companions_ , they called them. These were nothing more than collared bedwarmers, glorified whores.  _Overly expensive whores_.

"We have more, if these ones don't meet your criteria, my lord..." the slavemonger suggested nervously, but his mother signaled for the man to wait. She sighed audibly and put an arm around her son's waist.

"Tistan, my love, we can stay here until dawn if that's what it takes, but you will have to choose eventually." He scowled at her and felt the urge to roll his eyes once more. She placed a hand on his cheek and cupped his face, almost lovingly. "Would you rather have me pick for you? I know how you like them, if that's what you're worried about." He could have laughed, had he not been boiling inside. She always knew how to get under his skin, and her condescending tone was her weapon of choice.

"Worry not, mother, I can do it just fine by myself." He flashed an insincere smile and went back to scrutinizing the collared bodies. Best get this over with quickly, he thought.

Then, like godsent grace, the inspection was promptly interrupted by a piercing scream that echoed through the hall, followed by shouts and frantic steps. Tistan watched as the slavemonger's face turned an ugly shade of red and excused himself, leaving him and his mother alone in a hurry. A couple of guards followed the man through the adorned portal into the courtyard, where the shouting continued.

Tistan turned to his mother, whose slim face was contorted into an undignified expression.  _This is bound to be interesting_. He accompanied her as she stomped into the courtyard, where her booming voice soon drowned every other sound. " _On Sadrie's name, what is the meaning of this?!_ "

Those who recognized the crimson sash over her robes kneeled in solemn respect. Or utter fear, most likely. The rest froze in place. The scene they encountered was chaotic at best: at least five heavily-armed guards pinning a small figure to the floor, and a scantily-clad slave girl with scared eyes clutching her neck as if her head was about to snap off her body any moment. The greasy slavemonger held a long whip on his hand. Curious eyes peeked down at the courtyard through the balconies, drawn out by the commotion.

The slavemonger was the first to speak. "My grace, if you'll allow, please do forgive this interruption. T'was but a minor inconvenience, nothing for you to be concerned about, if we may return to the hall…" The words came out of the poor man's mouth in a flurry, but he was quickly interrupted.

"It is not your place to decide what is or is not for my concern, roach. I've asked: what is going on here?" She spoke every word with the authoritative tone of a commander. When Lady Verise asked a question, she only had time for a straight answer.

This time, it was one of the guards who answered. "Milady, f'you'll allow, this one here was tryin' to run away." The guard was one of four who were holding the small figure face-first to the floor. "He stole a knife from the kitchens and tried to kidnap the girl."

The slavemonger was shooting daggers at the guard, but the fearfully meek expression returned to his face when Verise spoke again. "Is this commonplace in your establishment? I'll have to reconsider making my business with Dardio if you fools can't control your own merchandise when attending clients." The man turned even redder, and bowed low to speak to the ground.

"My grace, I can assure you, we have the strictest controls…" The slavemonger's voice cracked, and for a moment Tistan could've sworn he was about to start sobbing. Tistan turned his attention to the slave on the floor. The source of the disturbance was a male in dirty grey robes, with short hair cut close to the scalp.

Verise approached the slave girl who'd screamed before, a skinny child still petrified in fear. "Are you all right, girl? Are you hurt?" The girl looked up at the older woman in surprise, as if she was just noticing her presence. She shook her head stiffly after a moment, never removing her hands from her neck. Her long braid had come undone and her flimsy dress was down her shoulders and stained with dirt.

The guards finally lifted the runaway slave from the floor. The young man had a small frame, and his face was as grubby as his robes. He had thick, shapeless eyebrows and defying brown eyes that stared angrily at the guards that bound him. There was nothing particularly special about him, except for two perfectly circular red marks on his cheeks. Tistan approached the slave and observed the peculiar marks with growing curiosity, only to get the angry brown eyes staring at him.

"What are these?" Tistan asked, lightly caressing the mark on the slave's left cheek. The slave clearly did not appreciate the gesture, tensing at the nobleman's touch.

The slavemonger was quickly hovering by his side. "My lord, this one comes from the far east. A beastly little thing. Those of his kind often wear markings such as these. He only came in last week;  _the gods would know what he's doing here_ , which would explain…"

Tistan took in the slave's appearance. His nose was broad, and behind the dirt and bloodstains, his skin was like slick bronze. And the poor man looked tired, like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks, which was entirely possible. "What's your name?" Tistan asked, but a mean, sleep-deprived stare was the only response he got. "Does he speak the common tongue?" At this, the slavemonger scoffed mockingly.

"M'fraid not, my lord. The Dominion's banner has not yet been planted on these savages' lands. Was to be sent to the mines, this one. That's all they're good for, if you'll allow. But now…" Suddenly, the slave twisted and turned, spewing some barbarian nonsense at no one in particular. Tistan winced, turning away as the guard's whip cracked across the savage's back, a sharp cry escaping the poor man's lips.

Tistan turned to his mother, who was watching him intently, and then back to the antsy slavemonger. "Tell me, my friend, what'll be this one's punishment?" He addressed the greasy old man with all the fake courtesy he could muster.

"Ah, well, he's attempted to escape, my lord, that alone would get him a good flogging and a week tied to the post…" Tistan nodded and mulled for a moment, before looking back at his mother and smiling. He'd just come up with an idea. A terrible, terrible idea.

"My beloved mother, you did want me to take a companion home with me, didn't you?" She raised an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms. "Good man, you may call off the flogger. I'll take the savage."

The slavemonger's eyes widened and Tistan could've sworn he heard the man choking on his own spit. "My lord, that's… He's untrained, he has no manners, no sense of loyalty, you cannot…" The greasy man cut himself short when he realized what he'd just said, and braced himself in fear.

"You would instruct me on what constitutes my rights, slaver? I'm a Dresaceri. I am a  _citizen of Corienor_. I  _will_  have the savage." He invoked every bit of dignified nobility and laced each word with venom, but internally he was slightly scared at how much he'd just sounded like his mother. The slavemonger bowed low and commanded the guards to ready the mongrel for sale. Once the platoon of had taken his new purchase away, and the slaver was out of sight, his mother approached him and swatted his arm.

"You must always have it your way, don't you?" She sighed in defeat, and Tistan allowed himself to flash a coy grin. "Fine, then. Have it your way. If the savage doesn't learn to behave, if he tries to run away, if he so much as screws up once, Tistan…" she shook her head and leaned into him, softly placing a palm on his chest. "...You'll slit his throat yourself." His smile now gone, he nodded curtly and waited for her to leave before breathing out. He only hoped his new companion had the sense to co-operate. 

Of all the bad decisions, this was almost the worst he'd taken that week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the start of an ambitious project I've been working on for some time. I've outlined most of what I want for this story by now, and so I'm pretty confident on my ability to provide new chapters on a regular basis, but I make no promises!


	2. The prisoner

**II**

**The prisoner**

The sharp pain in his back was the first thing he felt when he woke up. Perhaps it was the reason he'd woken up in the first place. Opening his eyes was a challenging task, and a pointless one too; the room he was in was completely engulfed in darkness. As he progressively recovered consciousness, he became more and more aware of his decadent state: every limb hurt, no doubt strained after spending days in ropes and shackles. He was covered in filth from head to toe, and worst of all,  _he reeked_. The scratchy grey tunic he'd been given when he was captured was a mess of dirt, sweat, piss and blood, not all of it his.

He tried to move in vain: his legs were weak and his arms were tied at his back with heavy chains. An animal would've received a better treatment. He'd been sat cross-legged on the floor with his back against the wall, staring at the dark room. He suddenly became aware of the foreign weight of the cold metal around his neck, and felt the urge to vomit.  _There's nothing there for you to vomit_. His mind raced over the events of the past few weeks, and his breathing got heavy when he remembered what had just happened. He'd tried to escape. He'd failed. He'd been bought.  _Bought_ , like some farm animal. He'd been branded and collared. In a sudden bout of anger, he spat out a glob of phlegm, and he could've sworn he'd tasted the metallic sting of blood somewhere in there.

He tried to speak, though he wasn't sure what he wanted to say, or to whom. Would he cry for help, hoping his plea would reach sympathetic ears? Would he curse at Ashaarkhu, who had been so cruel to him? It didn't matter. His throat was weak and dry, and his voice was nowhere to be found. Right then, he would have killed for a sip of water. He felt a sting in his eyes as tears formed and threatened to cascade down his face. He might have tried to drink those.  _No_ , he thought bitterly,  _there's no use in that_. He needed to escape. He'd failed the first time, but that didn't mean he couldn't try again. He  _had_ to try again.

He thought of his brothers, who'd been taken with him. He hadn't seen him any of them since they'd arrived to the city. Had they been sold too? He thought of Bashu, who'd been slain fighting by his side, protecting him, as he always did.  _You idiot_. He could still see the lifeless body lying on the ground, and the blood. The blood had been everywhere. He thought of his sister, who by now must've gotten word of his capture, of his humiliating defeat. Would she look for him? Would she care? He couldn't just sit idle and do nothing. He needed to go back.

He knew the moment they'd been taken they were headed West. The men who'd captured them wore colorful silks and spoke the fluid tongue of the Western folk. He'd heard reports of pirates and slavers from the Sunset lands lurking in the shallow waters near the coasts of the Smoking Sea, but he nothing could have possibly prepared them for an attack upriver, so close to home. They'd been completely overtaken.

His head was pounding. The whip wounds on his back felt like they were going to burst open any second. He'd been so careless, trying to escape like that. And the girl… he shouldn't have tried to take the girl. In the heat of the moment, taking a hostage had felt like a good idea, but she ended up being more of a liability than anything else. He began to release a shaky breath, but his sore throat turned it into a fit of coughing.

The sound of steps and a metallic ringing brought him back to reality. In front of him, a door opened, letting in the dim light of a single candle, carried by a lone figure. His eyes took a moment to adjust, and when they did, he was met by a round face with bright eyes, a long straight nose and thin pursed lips. It was a tall woman, who appeared to be well into her adulthood. She wore a long robe that covered her arms and her legs down to her ankles, uncommon for the Vahay women he'd seen up to that point. She approached him and placed the candle on the floor, kneeling near him. The woman eyed him warily, apparently unbothered by his uncleanliness. He initially tried to inch away from her, but it wasn't as if he could move much anyway.

Then the woman lifted a bowl and took it to his dry lips. "Drink"; it was water. He took it all at once, letting it quench his thirst, barely noticing that half of the bowl's contents were dripping down his chin. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd drank anything at all. When the bowl was empty, the woman took it away and stood up, leaving the candle on the floor. It was then that he noticed the collar around her neck.

She gave him a pitiful look and spoke in the regal tongue of the Western folk. "You're family now, child" Family. To these people, chains were as absolute and irrevocable as blood. With nothing more to say, she was promptly gone. In the candle's dim light, he could see the dusty wooden floor and the cracked walls of his small confinement. He could see his dirty clothes, and to his right, the chains binding him to the wall. This was all a mess, a huge mess from which he had to escape, but had no idea how.

Tears threatened once again to fall from his eyes, though this time, he didn't have the strength to fight them back. When had he last cried? He couldn't recall, it had been too long. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander off to some other place, away from the cold room, away from the chains, away from the golden ring fastened around his neck. His tears became a winding creek, splitting in half an endless plain of tall golden grass. He could see his feet touching the earthy soil, the wind gently grazing his face. He could see red mountains reaching for a pale blue sky. He could see home.


	3. The unwilling master

**III**

**The unwilling master**

To say the young man was in a precarious state would have been a grave understatement. There were cuts and bruises all over his skin, and he was completely covered in filth. The rags he wore wouldn't have been fit to mop the floors. His skin was pale and there were dark bags under his eyes. Tistan guessed the man must've not had access to a bath in Dardio's dungeons, though he did wonder whether bathing was something those of his kind did on occasion. There were many savage peoples in the east, dwelling in and beyond the Sands of Itsori. Few of them were known to the cartographers and explorers of the Dominion, though, and so pinpointing this particular savage's origin was going to be a hard task.

Tistan stared as the man's chest rose and fell in even motions, and wondered what sort of life he had led before being taken by the slavers. Had he been a farmer, who ploughed the land? Despite his small frame and the time spent in chains, the man's arms were well defined, and he didn't look like he'd ever been underfed. Perhaps, Tistan mused, the man had been a warrior, wielding swords, spears and bows. He pondered over the fact that it was likely that this man had killed someone at some point.  _And now he's supposed to be my personal_   _bedwarmer_. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that.

Suddenly, the man's breathing became harsher. He struggled to move as he regained consciousness, filling the small room with shuffling noises and the rattle of chains. Tistan observed cautiously as the savage  woke unceremoniously from his visibly uncomfortable slumber. It was a wonder he hadn't yet choked himself to death with his collar, which looked completely out of place, pulchre shiny gold against sullied skin. The slave's eyelids slowly fluttered open unevenly into a tired expression, eyes unfocused and lost, until they found Tistan. Then, they turned into an angry stare, which by now appeared to be the savage's default expression.

The young lord sighed and cleared his throat. He'd been around slaves his entire life, as was the norm in a highborn household, but he'd never been around an untrained slave, so he wasn't quite sure where to start, or how to assess the situation. He figured he would probably make more progress with the savage if he gave the illusion of being on equal footing, and so Tistan sat down on the dusty floor to face the man eye to eye, though he was still a couple of inches taller than the bound slave, who was bent ungraciously against the wall.

"I don't even know if you can understand what I'm saying" started Tistan, and the man limited his response to a huff.  _Well, at least he's not deaf_. He waited a moment before continuing. "You've been sold to me; do you understand what that means?" At this, the slave produced a sardonic guffaw and spat at the ground.

" _Yezalej duun, imaegoruk"_ hissed the man in a raspy and low voice, before falling prey to a raucous fit of coughing. Tistan ran a hand through his dark hair and breathed out in frustration. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what the slave had just said. Maybe he should've listened to the greasy slavemonger, and gotten himself some braindead Northerner who caused him no trouble. Training mongrels was not a nobleman's job.

"Look, it's not like I want you to be here, either" Tistan muttered, mostly to himself. It was true, he had no need for a companion. As far as he was concerned, he already had someone to keep him company.  _No, you don't anymore._ He cursed at his mother once more. This was all her doing. "On Sadrie's name, what am I going to do with you?" he wondered aloud, to which the slave raised a bushy eyebrow and cleared his throat.

"Let me go" the slave proposed aloud, and Tistan's eyes widened as the man spoke intelligibly for the first time.  _So he does speak the common tongue_. If the savage could actually understand him, and even answer coherently, it meant half the job was already done. It was progress, of a sort.

Tistan breathed in. "Do you know what you've been sold as?" The man said nothing. "You're a companion now. Do you understand what that entails?" Again, silence was the only response the slave deigned to give. They sat quietly for a moment, before Tistan spoke again. "May I ask you your name?" He reckoned that was a good place to start. The savage, however, was stubbornly disinterested in conversation, and Tistan was met with silence once more.

"This would be a lot easier if you cooperated, you know?" The young lord groaned.  _Can't he see I'm trying to make this easy?_  The man huffed again, looking down at his own feet. "You know, it's fine. I don't need to know your name. I can give you a new one." Tistan crossed his arms, waiting for some kind of response, verbal or otherwise. He got nothing. Exasperated, he stood up to approach the man, kneeling beside him and trying his best to ignore the stench coming off the tattered robe. "Alright, fine. If I unshackle you, can you at least promise not to attack me?" The slave looked up, and assessed Tistan with untrusting eyes. Tistan held the slave's gaze for a moment, and only then the man nodded almost unnoticeably. Tistan was never one to make gambles, and yet… "There are two guards outside the door and a dozen more in this side of the manse alone, so you better think twice before trying something,  _understood?_ "

He unlocked the shackles, letting them fall to the ground in a thud. The slave slowly stretched his arms out, making a soft grunt when his shoulder joints popped audibly. The young lord went back to his place on the floor. "My name is Tistan. Tistan lei Verisas Dresaceri." The man ignored him, instead focusing on rubbing his own wrists, which were red where the shackles had been. Tistan looked intently, and as if sensing an answer was required of him, the savage looked up to give Tistan tired expression, maintaining his signature sepulchral silence.

Tistan examined once more the savage's face. The man looked like he was in his early twenties, though it was hard to say for sure. His chapped lips were neither thin nor full, and there was light scruff outlining his jaw. In the dim candlelight, Tistan couldn't quite appreciate the shade of the slave's skin, or the mysterious red circle marks on his cheeks that had made the young lord notice the man in the first place. Tistan wondered what they were supposed to symbolize. In an odd way, Tistan thought they were beautiful.

They both stayed like that for a long moment, before Tistan decided they'd both had enough for a day. "I'll have someone show you to the baths later. You stink." He turned his back to leave, but as he reached for the door, a voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Aaru. My name is Aaru." The slave spoke with a heavy accent, the syllables dislodged from each other, the consonants harsh and the vowels too open, but Tistan couldn't help but smile at the breakthrough.

"Alright, Aaru. Thank you for telling me." He left the room slightly less worried than when he'd gone in.  _Aaru._ He decided he liked it. _There may yet be hope for you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference: yezalej duun, imaegoruk = "I'm not yours, pirate". Since piracy is what Aaru would know Tistan's people for, it would make sense to call Tistan a pirate as well, I suppose. I've developed quite a bit of Aaru's language by now, so expect to see more of it in the future.


	4. The companion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Qadaaj vanni akshamurran Aaru qanagaz; yezalej khidaazi.

**IV**

** The companion **

Aaru’s skin was red and sore from scrubbing. By now he’d spent well over an hour in the steaming water, rubbing every inch of skin he could reach until he could feel human again. The tall collared guard who’d escorted him to the bathhouse had to help him out of his shabby robe and into the water, as his limbs were too weak for him to do it on his own. He found it amusing that the woman had stood there the whole time, a hand posed on the hilt of her sword, as if he were to run away at any given moment. He could barely clean himself without help; they needn’t worry about him making a grand escape. Not for now, at least.

The gold of his collar felt warm, like a long hand with thin fingers enclosed around his neck. He let out a shaky breath as he pulled on it with his fingers, feeling the slim ring push against his skin on the other side. It was a perfect circlet, held by a small lock at the back. Aaru hated the unfamiliar weight and the way it clung to his skin, but more than the physical discomfort, he couldn’t stand the meaning it carried. The collar announced to the entire world that he was property, to be bought and sold at his owners’ behest. Before he escaped, he would have to find the key, or some other way to get it off that didn’t involve him losing his head.

Aaru found it hard to understand how anyone could so willingly submit themselves to being owned like mere cattle, like they were  _nothing_. He’d known from before that the Western folk used slaves to exploit the mines and fields, to push carts and row ships, and to fight in their bloody wars. Yet the slaves with golden collars seemed to not only accept their servient status, but to  _prefer_  it. They wore their collars like a badge of pride. The girl he’d tried to take hostage before had shown no desire to escape, and she’d screamed, kicked and begged to stay under the slavers’ roof. So terrible was the alternative, so horrid the option of freedom, that they would give it up so easily without a second thought? Thinking about it made his head hurt, though it was possible the steam coming off the scalding water and the lack of food in his stomach had something to do with it too.

Aaru sighed and took a moment to look around the spacious bathhouse. There were five equally sized pentagonal pools arranged into a star. Two of them had hot water that never seemed to cool down, and three appeared to contain temperate water. Arched windows in the wall to his left were the only source of light, though it was sufficient to illuminate the entire room. He could see the sun through them, its light shining bright without a cloud to step in the way. It must have been well into the morning. To his right, a colossal mural depicted a three-headed woman riding what appeared to be a swan, with a vibrant full moon in the sky, and a sea of crashing waves underneath her. She must’ve been some sort of goddess, Aaru theorized. The colors were bright and beautiful, as if the painting had been done recently.

The Westerners were a vain people with a relentless taste for finery and excess. The richer a Western man was, the more he’d show it off. Aaru had gotten to know some of them back home, as they sometimes ventured to the merchant ports of the Smoking Sea. Their tongue was the lingua franca of trade across the seas; even where they weren’t present, their impact could still be felt. Aaru’s father had told him about the olden days, when the Westerners stayed on their side of the continent and the enemy was to the East, not the West. Now, the people of the Sunset lands led an ever-expanding empire; a monstrous sea creature with a thousand tentacles that lay waste to anyone who tried to stop their advances.

“Are you finished now?” the tall armed woman brusquely interrupted his musings. He couldn’t see her face well, as it was covered by a silver helmet. It was a wonder how she hadn’t fainted yet from the heat of the water under all that armor. Aaru nodded in response and watched silently as she left through the thick wooden door, only to come back a few moments later with a young girl carrying a set of cloths, and another, older woman, whom Aaru recognized as the one who’d visited him in the cell to give him water.

Aaru’s attention immediately went to the older woman, who appeared to command inherent gravitas despite being a good foot shorter than the guard. In this light he could better appreciate the features of her face. She was plump and pale, with milk-white skin, a small straight nose and icy blue eyes. She was not native of these lands. Her long auburn hair was arranged into a single thick braid which fell back past her waist, and it was adorned with beads and metallic leaves to make it look as if she was covered in silver vines. She was wearing the same long robe that covered her down to her ankles, only now Aaru could see it was a beautiful shade of purple that matched the small amethyst crystal that hung from her golden collar. Both the woman and the girl had jeweled rings pierced on their noses and earlobes. The woman gave Aaru a kind smile, and asked the guard to leave them alone.

“Have you washed yourself well, child?” she asked, her smile never quite leaving her face. Her voice was calm and mellow, and it reminded Aaru of the way a mother may speak to her actual child. He nodded wordlessly and took her extended hand as she kneeled by the tub to help him out. As he stood stark-naked, water rapidly pooling at his feet, he found it surprising how unbothered he was being unclothed in front of them. The older woman’s calm, matronly demeanor and persistent eye-contact made the situation feel rather… sterile.

The older woman handed him a long warm cloth, indicating him to dry off. As he did, he noticed the girl, who couldn’t have been older than twelve, staring at him with an estranged look on her eyes. Aaru was initially concerned, until he realized the girl was only eyeing his bloodmarks. He felt an uncomfortable heat creeping up his neck, and he realized he felt self-conscious about them. Back home, they had been a source of pride and status. They told his story. People needn’t know his name to know who he was; they could see the bloodmarks and that would be enough. But now, in this strange city with its strange people, his marks were nothing but an exotic rarity for the locals to gawk upon. The marks singled him out as a foreigner, a savage with a painted face, and they had done nothing but get him in trouble since he’d arrived.

But he couldn’t allow himself to forget what the bloodmarks meant. He had to remember. They were circles, like the undying sun. They were red, for the blood of Sanaajhu. One mark was for gracious Aajhankkaru and another for mighty Khavelanak. They were the marks of his father and his mother; they were the marks of his sister. He had to remember, or he would lose himself.

“You may wear this when you’re finished drying off” said the older woman, as the young girl carefully handed her a pair of culottes made of a white translucent fabric, not unlike those that the girl was wearing herself. At the waist, they were held by a thin sterling belt adorned with silver leaves like the ones the older woman had on her hair. He was not given anything for his upper body or for his feet. Devoid of much enthusiasm, Aaru eyed the flimsy trousers for a moment before begrudgingly putting them on. No point in arguing about clothes. He had resolved himself to playing along and waiting for the right time to run, as going off at anything would surely put him in a dark cell again. As he looked down at himself, Aaru questioned the practicality of the outfit. He couldn’t move much in it, and he wasn’t particularly fond of going around barefoot. The woman and the girl, however, looked satisfied as they eyed him up and down.

“Much better. Doesn’t he look much better now, Edrie?” the woman beamed as she addressed the young girl, who nodded emphatically. Aaru didn’t even bother faking a smile. “The Lord Tistan has been gracious enough to give you these clothes, child; fine  _nadai_  from the best  _sorodēoi_  in the city.” Aaru brushed off the words he couldn’t understand, as he gathered they probably weren’t of particular importance.

The young girl gave him a sincere smile and nodded along, clearly drenched in the older woman’s excitement. “Yes, Lord Tistan must really like you.” Aaru knew the girl had meant it as a compliment, though he didn’t feel particularly flattered.

Aaru wasn’t in on all the details of what it meant to be a ‘companion’, but he wasn’t daft and he could put two and two together. The supposition of what was expected of him only fueled his determination to escape as soon as the opportunity presented itself. But the girl had said the young lord  _liked_  him. Why? With all his riches, Tistan Dresaceri surely could have gotten himself the prettiest, most obedient catamite the slavers had to offer, and yet the lord had bought  _him_ , a ‘savage’. Aaru really didn’t want to think much about it, as a dreadful feeling deep inside him told him he would find out on his own soon enough.

Once the woman and the girl were done playing dress-up with him, the woman, who by then had introduced herself as Taodie, explained that since he would be Lord Tistan’s personal companion, he was to sleep in the same wing of the manse as the young master. Aaru hoped he’d translated  _wing_ correctly, and the woman had not mean he would sleep in the same room as the lordling.

Taodie and the girl, Edrie, led Aaru through the manse. They navigated winding galleries, flanked by shapely statues made of ivory, onyx and other precious stones whose names Aaru didn’t know. The tall walls were decorated with mosaics showing leaves and flowers and with long tapestries in vivid shades of purple, a color that appeared to repeat itself in different shades throughout the manse. There were arched windows everywhere, illuminating the entire complex with natural light, but they were covered with tessellated panels that prevented him from seeing outside. The granite floors, also depicting intricate patterns, felt numbingly cold against his bare feet.

As he feared, the whole place was packed full of guards, who had no qualms in staring him down through their ugly helmets with untrusting eyes. On a better day, with the proper attire and a good blade on his hand, he would’ve been able to take on a couple of them, but there was a whole damned army protecting every corner of the place, and he couldn’t fight while dressed in airy silks.

After walking for what felt like an eternity through never-ending hallways and climbing two different sets of stairs, they arrived to their destination. Waiting by the door to Aaru’s new living quarters was the guard woman from before, who eyed him with disdain as they went inside. The room itself was not particularly big or adorned, compared to what he’d seen of the manse on the way there. A small bed with silky sheets was the main feature, placed awkwardly in the middle of the chamber. A single window with the same kind of panels as the ones in the corridors outside served as the room’s main source of light, though unlit candles were placed on tall iron stands on every corner. Most importantly, however, and what immediately drew Aaru’s attention, was a small round table by the bed with a set of bronze platters holding assorted fruits of different sizes and colors.

Forgoing all possible etiquette, he threw himself at the table in a swift motion, and snatched a fat, ripe plum from the platter. He barely noticed Taodie’s disapproving look or the girl’s bemused expression as he took a large bite off the fruit, letting the sweet juice drip down his hairy chin and into the woolen carpet on the floor. He’d just swallowed the last bite when he was onto the next fruit, though this time he was stopped by a slightly horrified Taodie, who placed a steady hand on Aaru’s shoulder.

“One at a time, child, you’ll choke” the woman spoke softly. “You are to stay here until the Lord Tistan wishes to see you. What you have here should suffice, but should you be with thirst or hunger, or should you need to visit the privy, tell Coreio” she said, referring to the tall guard woman by the door. Aaru nodded indifferently, though the possibility of making his escape on a ‘visit to the privy’ wasn’t lost on him. He’d have to try and see just how closely the guard would follow him on that instance.

Long after Taodie and Edrie had left, and the guard had returned to her vigil on the other side of the closed door, Aaru continued to stuff his face with fruits, tasting figs, grapes, dates and others that Aaru had never seen before that filled his mouth with overwhelming new flavors. They were all fresh, as if just picked from the tree, though in his state of starvation, anything would’ve been just as good. Once he was satisfied and there was no space left on his stomach, he sat awkwardly on the soft bed, staring at the curtains hanging on the walls and feeling slightly embarrassed at how easily he’d given in to his hunger. Just because he was no longer bound in chains, and he was fed with treats served on fancy platters, it didn’t mean he was free. He was bathed and given fine clothes, and the sunlight gave life to the warm colors of the carpets and tapestries of his lavish room. But Aaru knew well he was still a slave. The collar around his neck reminded him that no matter how comfortable he felt, he was still deprived of his freedom. These were not his clothes, or his food, or his chambers. They were  _Lord Tistan’s_ , and for as long as Aaru stayed there, so would he be.

The weight around his neck felt heavier than ever, and the persistent smell of myrrh in the air was making him dizzy. Perhaps it was that he’d eaten more than he could handle, or the perfume of the bedsheets was getting to him, but his head was spinning and he felt nauseous. In a daze, he knelt on the floor and clasped his hands together, intertwining his fingers in the form of the crow. He looked up to the ceiling and closed his eyes, pretending it was the open sky before him, infinite, immaculate, and colored with the palette of a perfect sunset. The sacred words escaped his lips, barely audible: a plea to Sanaajhu, his guardian, to Aarasu, his namesake, to Ashaarkhu, sentinel of fate. Would they listen to him here, so far away from home?

The winds of fortune had brought him to this foreign land, and shackled him with chains of gold. The Westerners thought he would bend to servitude if they sweetened the deal with fancy presents, but he would not give in so easily. He hadn’t needed riches before, and he wouldn’t need them now. The blood of warriors and hunters ran through his veins. Maybe it was so that the old gods of his homeland had forsaken him, but he would not forsake them; he  _could not_ , for they were marked in his skin.

Still looking up, he raised his voice as he reminded himself the one certainty he had left: “ _My name is Aaru of the River, marked in red, and I am **not**  a slave_.”


	5. The lord with the gilded name

**V**

**The lord with the gilded name**

The repetitive chants of the masked priests echoed off the tall walls and columns of the temple, filling the sanctuary with hallowed passages praising the Goddess. The midday sunlight produced rainbows of spectral gleams as it crossed the stained-glass windows that covered the high ceiling, inciting a mystic aura that enveloped the room. Tistan stood in silence, absently looking up at the imposing marble statue in Sadrie’s image at the center of the temple. It stood at least fifty feet tall, its arms open as if it were trying to embrace the whole building, and was completely covered in translucent veils, all tinted in shades of lavender and purple, the Goddess’ sacred hues. Each of her three heads faced different directions of the circular abode, so it didn’t matter where you stood in the Temple of the Moon, Blessed Sadrie would be looking down on you with its stern bejeweled eyes. Simply put, the temple was a sight to behold. Its beauty was famed across the Dominion, and it was considered one of the wonders of the Vahay civilization. To Tistan, it was just yet another old building with a creepy statue. 

The High Priestess danced graciously around the statue’s plinth, followed by an entourage of acolytes playing tambourines and throwing petals at the marble colossus and the crowd of onlookers in equal parts. As it suited a nobleman of his status, Tistan stood in the lower steps leading up to the platform where the High Priestess was performing the rites, on the inner side of the circular pool of jasmine water that separated the highborn and the lowborn within the temple. Even here, in the house of a god, a man’s name and rank was everything.

It was just past midday, and the warm, humid summer weather of the Capital was at its peak. As sweat dripped down Tistan’s forehead and back, he dedicated a silent curse at the royal astrologers, who had warned this summer would be the hottest in a decade.  _The old geezers are right about something for the first time, and it has to be this_. The heavy ceremonial robes he was wearing were not helping much either. Around him, dozens of high lords looked on as the High Priestess moved, somehow not losing the golden crown atop her head or tripping over her long braid, which almost touched the ground. Even though she wore lighter clothes than everyone else, Tistan felt sorry for the poor woman, who was amply sweating from her divine exercise. Beside the sweat, however, the priestess appeared to be unbothered as she kept her eyes closed in concentration.

Tistan had never been particularly fond of the rituals at the Temple of the Moon, but it was established etiquette that he should attend every month to pay his respects to Sadrie, who was his family’s patron goddess. Every highborn family in Corienor was pledged to a patron god, and the most important lineages were those pledged to the First Five, the highest gods in the Vahay pantheon. Sadrie, the Moon-princess, was one of those five. The ritual itself didn’t bother Tistan as much as the hours of socially expected interaction with noblemen from the city’s most important families, which always took place once the ceremony was over. Indeed, for the highborn of Corienor, the rituals were more social events than religious ones.

Beside him in the crowd, his mother sang along to the sacred chants, pronouncing the fifty-five holy names with closed eyes and raised hands. He furrowed his brows in annoyance, knowing well that it was nothing but a well-performed act; his lady mother was not a religious woman at all. She would not think twice to use the names of Sadrie in vain, and she wouldn’t even show her face at the monthly rituals were it not for the opportunity to chat with the many lords of Corienor’s upper strata who were pledged to the Goddess. But Verise Dresaceri was excellent at pretending to be something she was not, and this was an essential requirement to be a successful member of the Sealord’s court.

Tistan sighed and toyed with the long sleeves of his robe. The ritual was finally coming to an end. As the chanting grew more and more intense, the High Priestess began dancing faster, moving her hands across her own body and making circular motions with her bare feet as she pronounced words in the ancient liturgical tongue. The acolytes all knelt before the statue, and finally the priestess fell to the ground in a single, dramatic motion. The chanting voices subsided and soon a sepulchral silence settled over the temple, as every person in the room stared expectantly at the woman on the floor, whose back was heaving with each gaping breath she took. After a moment, the woman looked up, and stood up with wobbly limbs. An acolyte handed her a cup of water, and after relieving her thirst, the woman announced in the ancient tongue she had been shown by the Great Goddess another cycle of great conquests for the Dominion, this time in unconquered lands to the East, enticing a rousing round of applause and cheers of “ _hail Sadrie!_ ” Unconquered lands to the East… Tistan spared a thought for his newly acquired companion, who would soon have more compatriots in the Capital.

The ritual was over, but to Tistan, the worst part had just begun. As the commoners and baseborn left the temple compounds, the noblemen moved to the lush gardens outside to talk and drink celebratory moonwine, escorted by a procession of masked priests. He purposefully trailed behind to lose his mother, who had been beside him since they’d arrived, and took one of the many stone pathways as the crowd of noble lords dispersed.

The temple gardens were among the most beautiful in Corienor, with tall trees that were nearly always in bloom, and curated ponds shaped like the phases of the moon. He knew them like the palm of his hand, as he’d been a frequent visitor since he was a child. He also knew the names and faces of every high lord who attended the monthly rituals, from the foul Lord Veresse, who traded with cheeses and smelt like one too, to the sharp-witted septuagenarian Lady Aocasta, who, according to Tistan’s mother, had lusted after the Dresaceris’ coveted spot in the royal council for generations.

Tistan had been taught from an early age how to converse with noblemen and noblewomen. He knew what to say and what not to say, what to ask and how to respond to the same vacuous questions that he always got, always in that condescending tone filled with fake courtesy and empty flattery. He would get smiles, nods, and unequivocal agreement. They would never fail to mention the glorious and unsoiled history of the Dresaceri bloodline, or the conquests of his ancestor and namesake, Tistan the Gilded, who had been Sealord many a moon ago. The Dresaceris had been sixth in rank in the reigning Sealord’s court for over twenty years, and as such they were the second highest family name among those pledged to Sadrie. They were the highest of the high in Corienor.

After walking for a minute, he sat on a small bench by a pond, far enough from the canopies under which most lords had assembled. A large jacaranda tree provided a comfortable amount of shade. The frail purple flowers were in full bloom, and many of them had fallen to the ground to make a rug of withered petals that felt funny beneath Tistan’s sandals. He lightly caressed the grey stone of the bench, and suddenly he realized he knew this spot well. He remembered the last time he’d sat here, under this tree. It had been a mere month ago, but to Tistan it felt like a whole year. The jacarandas hadn’t bloomed yet then, and there had been another sitting beside him. The memory drew an involuntary sad sigh out of him.

“My lord Dresaceri” an unknown voice coming from behind startled him, and he turned to face the intruding presence. A young woman with big brown eyes, wearing slim-fitting maroon drapes that left much of her abdomen and lower back exposed. Tistan raised an eyebrow first, but then stood up and allowed the woman to bow low in respect of Tistan’s name. The simple fact that Tistan didn’t recognize her was enough for him to know she was of much lower rank than him, but he was courteous enough to engage in conversation.

“My fair lady” Tistan took in the woman’s appearance, making note of the golden rings that adorned her ears, nose, and lower lip. “I don’t think we’ve met before. Are you pledged to the Goddess?” asked Tistan, though he already knew the answer. 

The young woman smiled, and dimples formed on her cheeks. She had long and thick eyelashes, and shapely dark eyebrows that framed her heart-shaped face. Tistan had to concede she was beautiful. “Those of my line have worshipped the Unpolluted Vaelo for generations, my lord. I have come as a humble visitor, if you’ll allow.” The woman’s voice was soft and low, and when she talked, the jewels that adorned her face shone as they reflected the sunlight. “I am called Charie Thebardai, my lord.”

_ Thebardai _ . Tistan knew the name, albeit only faintly. They were a minor lineage, barely noble, who hailed from Nadanor, if his memory didn’t fail him. Noblemen who were pledged to other gods had to ask for permission from temple officials in order to visit the gardens after the monthly rituals, so visitors were an odd sight most of the time, especially those of lower rank like this woman. 

“My lady Thebardai, it’s an honor to meet you.” Tistan took the woman’s hand and kissed it, following protocol. It wasn’t an honor, really, but meaningless flattery was the way of their kind. “It’s not often that one sees followers of Vaelo in our Blessed Sadrie’s gardens. What brings my lady here, if I may inquire?” Tistan asked absently, hoping the answer would not be too long.

“One would not be blamed for thinking my gracious Lord Dresaceri rarely ever sees followers of Vaelo at all” she responded sardonically, taking Tistan aback. Had this woman just mocked him in his presence? “I am actually here on behalf of a common friend, my lord” Charie smiled and reached into her bosom, from where she produced a small scroll. She handed it to Tistan, who eyed it curiously, and bowed as she stepped back, letting her jet-black braid slide to the side. “Should you ever be in need to reach him, the gates to Vaelo’s Temple are always open. That is, if a man of such noble name as yourself would not find it too low to be a visitor in the house of my patron.” With that, the woman was gone. Tistan blushed slightly at the woman’s jab and rolled the scroll between his fingers.  _What a strange person_ , he thought to himself. He sat back on the bench to open the seal. A ‘common friend’, she had said. Could it be…?

Tistan recognized the handwriting instantly.  _“On the first moon of Ardo’s festival, meet me at the statue of your royal namesake at midnight. Don’t get followed. Yours, Castas.”_ Tistan’s heart skipped a bit as he read the name, and he found himself tracing the letters with his finger. It  _was_  him. With a smile from ear to ear, he tucked the letter into his sleeve and stared at the purple flowers on the ground. Knowing his mother was probably looking for him, Tistan stood up and made his way back to the canopies. Suddenly, he had something to look forward to.

 


	6. The river's son

** VI **

** The river's son **

He felt the even movement of his mare under him as she strutted slowly down the steppe, moving in an endless sea of tall grass. The wind was rising, and strong currents pushed against them, but his ride was dead-set on going forward. In the distance, two peaks stood against the sky, with a fiery sun rising behind them. He could hear the familiar song of the river behind him. The neigh of his nameless mare came loudest, and suddenly she was gone, and he was walking. He felt the grass blades hitting his face, but he kept on walking, until the sound of the flowing waters was nearly gone. Other sounds came in its stead: the low tune of a flute, the laughter of children, and the howling of wolves. They were all distant, and their sources remained unseen, as if concealed by an otherworldly veil. He could only look forward, towards the rising sun and the two mountains, their snow-capped peaks beaming like two glowing beacons above the horizon.

Voices began speaking, though he couldn’t quite understand what they were saying. He tried to concentrate on them, and slowly he began picking up some words as he realized they were coming from the stone giants, low and staccato. “ _Ijhuuru... the boy… left… gone… yeztaajan…_ ” He knew the boy was him, and he turned away from them in shame. He looked down at his hands, which were now blood-soaked and dripping on the dry, earthy soil. A sadness settled over him; he knew whose blood it was. “ _He who bears our mark… undeserving_ ” the mountains pronounced severely, as he knelt down on the ground, his limbs now heavy and tired. The grass around him slowly morphed into a stream of water, and then he stood in the middle of a flowing river. No, not just a river; it was the Yuu. The water was a clear mirror upon which he could see the pale sky and the omnipotent sun, but when he looked down, he had no reflection. As if on instinct, he submerged himself in the waters, letting the steady flow take over him. He was not worried or scared, for he knew this was the Yuu, and the Yuu would take him home. He heard another voice, this time a familiar one, calling for him. “ _Jhaqi_ ”, it cried;  _brother_. He turned, and sure enough, there was Sanaa beside him in the water, calm and limp, as if she were weightless. When she spoke, her mouth didn’t move at all: “ _come home, brother, come home_.” He moved his arm to try and reach out to her, and felt his lips part to call her name, but a knock on the door made her dissolve into the water, and the Yuu dried back into darkness as the world fell to pieces in a cloud of black smoke.

Aaru woke up drenched in sweat. He looked around in a dazed state, still trying to make sense of his surroundings, and sighed deeply when he recognized the adorned living quarters where he’d been confined for two days now. It had all just been a dream. The steppes were a thousand miles away, as were the Yuu and his sister. He sat on the disheveled bed and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand as the door opened. The young girl from before, Edrie, slowly made her way in carrying a covered platter, and stood awkwardly by the door as if waiting for Aaru to say something. He didn’t.

“Were you sleeping?” asked Edrie in clear embarrassment. “I’m so sorry…” Aaru simply shook his head, though he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t feel like talking. The girl waited for a moment before setting the platter on the low table and lifting the cloth off it to reveal what looked like some sort of flat black bread, topped by a thick beige cream. “Lord Tistan said you were probably tired of eating fruit by now, so he had the cook make this for you” she explained. Aaru eyed the meal with a distrusting frown, as he would have treated anything else coming from  _Lord Tistan_ , but slowly he realized he was indeed sick of eating nothing but fruit for two days straight. Still, he hesitated to reach for it, even as the oddly tempting smell reached him. Sensing his vacillation, Edrie knelt by the table and took a piece off the bread, exaggerating her movements and making a pleased noise as she ate it. “See, it’s  _very_ good. You should definitely have some” she said, almost like she was trying to teach a small child to eat by himself. Aaru made a face at the cheesy pantomime, but knelt by the girl on the floor and grabbed a piece off the bread, emulating her. He sniffed the foreign food before shoving it in his mouth, and took a moment to examine the taste. It was a bit too salty, but otherwise it wasn’t bad. By the time he had swallowed the first bite Edrie was staring at him with a small smile.

The girl served him water to pass down the bread, and sat with him as he ate, which Aaru found a bit weird, though he didn’t pay much attention to her. They didn’t speak, mostly because Aaru was never too long without food on his mouth, until he had finished the whole thing. “Say, don’t they have  _mallacāssoi_  where you come from?” asked Edrie. Aaru shook his head. “That’s a shame. Did you like it?” she inquired teasingly as she eyed the empty platter. There was no point in saying he didn’t. Instead he said nothing, choosing to pour himself more water.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” the girl asked, and Aaru raised an eyebrow at her.  _No, you just ask too many questions_ , he thought to himself. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak, actually.” Aaru shrugged, and the girl rolled her eyes. “You’re called Aaru, yes?”

Aaru held the girl’s gaze for a moment. Her eyes were the color of honey, and her skin was like dark amber. The rings pierced on her nose and brow made her look older than she probably was. She was a Westerner through and through. “Yes”, he confirmed simply, and Edrie appeared content, smiling widely at the first a verbal response she received.

“It’s a beautiful name, and most odd too! I’m glad the Lord Tistan has decided not to give you a new one” she beamed, making Aaru wince. He wondered if  _Edrie_  was the girl’s birth name or just the moniker her masters had given her. The girl stood up and picked up the empty platter. “You’ll love it here, Aaru. The Lord Tistan is most gracious indeed, as is the Lady Verise.” Aaru frowned and sat back, looking down at the carpeted floor. He didn’t feel like discussing just how benevolent their overlords were.

The girl stood silently for a minute, as if weighing on something, before she spoke. “Taodie says the Lord Tistan will see you today” she finally spilt in an unmistakably excited tone. Aaru felt his meal turn in his stomach. Why was the girl telling him just now? Sensing his dismay, Edrie leaned down and placed a small hand on Aaru’s shoulder. “Don’t be nervous, you’ll do fine” Aaru only nodded stiffly in response. The girl’s words of encouragement, though certainly well-intentioned, were hardly helpful. “As I said” she added before leaving, “the young lord is most gracious indeed.”

Now alone, Aaru tried his best to ignore the impending dread that awaited him by reminiscing back to his dream, which was slowly decaying into a faint memory. If he closed his eyes, he could still see his sister floating underwater, and he could hear her calling for him to go back home.  _Sanaa_ … would he ever see her again? He silently cursed his luck for the umpteenth time. Even his distractions were filled with doom.

He had to figure out another way to run away. By then he’d already gone to the privy six times, but the guard woman Coreio had followed him like a hound on each occasion. He couldn’t even piss without the woman standing by him to make sure he didn’t go anywhere. He’d also tried going out the window, but upon removing the wooden panels that covered it he was greeted by a two-story precipice to a small flagstone-covered courtyard. Unless he grew wings overnight, there was no way he would survive that fall. In any case, the idea of jumping out, whether he did make the fall or not, did grow appealing by the minute.

A couple of hours passed before Coreio barged unceremoniously into the room to escort him to Lord Tistan. “The young lord will see you now” she announced simply, before taking him by the arm and leading him out of the room. Unlike Edrie, the guard was much less keen on conversation, which Aaru appreciated. He was less enthusiastic about the woman’s tendency to take him places holding him tightly by the arm, as if he were to sprint off any moment. Aaru supposed it was better than being grabbed by the collar like some sort of animal.

The woman led Aaru through spacious corridors until they reached a large hall, with walls covered entirely with murals and draping curtains. Ample light came through high arched windows, two on each side of a big wooden door as tall as two adult men. The door was guarded by two armed sentinels, dressed much like Coreio, with helmets and steel collars. Aaru knew from his short stay with the slavers that steel was for armed slaves, guards and soldiers alike. Upon seeing Aaru and his escort, the sentinels opened the heavy-looking door, and his eyes had to take a moment to adjust at the intruding sunlight. He found himself in a lush garden, with dense trees and flowers in a myriad of colors. For the first time in days, Aaru felt the sun on his skin as the guard woman, never letting go of his arm, led him through maze-like pathways. He tried in vain to take it all in: the clear sky, the vibrant colors of the flowers, and the delicate butterflies that flew around the carefully curated shrubbery. The leaves were a deep shade of green that Aaru had never seen before, as if they were somehow saturated beyond their natural tint. The air carried with it a hundred different fragrances, one sweeter than the other. The more they walked into the greenery, the more Aaru felt like they were immersing into a small forest, the flora seemingly never-ending.

They walked until they reached a large stony arbor. There, nested among cushions, sat Tistan Dresaceri, wearing pink and orange robes with floral patterns, and a silver diadem that sat atop his mop of  unruly brown curls. Sitting across him on an austere stool was a dark-skinned man, whose face was entirely covered in golden rings and jewels. The man was deeply engaged in what appeared to be a one-sided conversation, speaking of numbers and places with clear excitement. Tistan, for his part, looked terminally bored, nodding absently at the other man’s monologue, while sipping on a silver cup that never seemed to leave his hand. The young lord’s fatigued expression changed when he saw Aaru and Coreio, both of whom now stood in the lower steps of the pillared arbor. Tistan held a palm up, and the other man stopped talking.

“Thank you, Sissane, that’s enough for today. I’ll report what you’ve told me to my mother as soon as she returns” he interrupted. The man stood up and bowed low.

“But of course, my lord. Please, do give the good Lady Verise my regards” the man spoke nervously and left with hurried steps, not bothering to spare a single look in Aaru's direction. Tistan let out a tired sigh and turned his attention to his two slaves, flashing an honest smile.

“I’m sure Aaru doesn’t need your help to stand, you may let go of him, Coreio” he said, as the two walked into the arbor. She released Aaru’s arm and stood back, bowing low much like the man, Sissane, had done before. “Leave us now” the young lord instructed. The woman initially hesitated, eyeing Aaru with suspicion, but finally left, leaving Aaru and Tistan alone. Aaru frowned in disbelief. Did the lordling really underestimate him that much?

The crowned youth indicated him to sit on the stool, which he did with some reluctance. A million thoughts flashed rapidly inside Aaru’s head. He eyed his surroundings, analyzing possible escape routes, and scouting for guards hidden in the trees. He didn’t see any. “How are you finding your new accommodations?” asked Tistan, momentarily disrupting his scheming. Aaru turned to face the nobleman and let out an incredulous huff. Was that even a serious question? Tistan Dresaceri took another sip of his cup, never breaking eye contact with his slave. If it  _was_  an actual question, Aaru would not deign the lordling with an actual answer.

“ _Jhezej qamurraagtizaak khramukgu-duun_ ” said Aaru, lacing each word with venom. Tistan made a pained expression and sighed, leaving his cup on the small glass-topped table that stood between them.

“I thought we were past this, Aaru. I want to make this as easy as possible for you, but I can’t do that if you don’t cooperate.” Aaru ignored the lord, instead looking around the arbor, which was covered in vines that shielded it from the abrasive sunlight. Unfazed, Tistan continued speaking. “You are now part of my household, you see. It is in my best interest that you be comfortable and at ease.”

Aaru returned his attention to the one sitting across him. Tistan Dresaceri was an attractive young man, with eyes like molten gold and a smooth, square jaw. It occurred to Aaru that the lordling looked an awful lot like the slave girl, Edrie. “Me, at ease?” he asked, gulping down quickly.

Tistan nodded softly and reclined in his cushions. “Yes. I know this position in which you find yourself now may not seem…  _optimal_. The change from your old life to your new life is quite radical, so it may take a while for you to get used to everything.” Tistan Dresaceri spoke with soft words, elongating the vowels in a regal, singsong accent. “But I’m willing to help you in this process. You’ll find that, in our household, we treat all our serfdom with humanity and respect.” Aaru clenched his fists so hard he could’ve drawn blood, and his heart pounded fast. It was taking him a considerable effort to stay in place.

Scrambling to find the right words amidst his simmering anger, Aaru spoke in a shaky tone: “Where I come from, ‘humanity’ and ‘respect’ do not go together with ‘serfdom’.” Aaru knew engaging in conversation with the lordling would only be playing into his game, but he was slowly losing what little composure he had left in him.

“Ah, but you see,” began Tistan, “you are no longer where you come from, wherever that is. You are here, in my manse, under my care and patronage. You may not see it now, but eventually you will come to realize this is an  _improvement_ -” Before he could finish, Aaru had jumped across the glass table and was on top of the young lord, hands enclosed around Tistan’s throat.

“ _You think you’re so smart_ ” Aaru spoke with a heavier accent than usual, huffing each word through forced breaths. “If you were any smart, you wouldn’t have sent the guard away.” Aaru straddled Tistan’s waist as he pushed against him. For his part, Tistan was limp and staring straight into his slave’s eyes. Aaru’s physical strength was not what it had once been, but he was still considerably stronger than Tistan.

“Well, you do have guts, I’ll give you that” said the young lord, stubbornly holding Aaru’s gaze. Even with hands around his throat, Tistan’s princely tone dominated his speech. “What do you think happens now? Do you really think you can escape?”

Aaru surprised himself by laughing out loud, and dug his digits deeper into Tistan’s neck, making the nobleman wince in pain. “I can try.” An uncontrollable rush ran through his whole body, and he felt his arms tremble. He was a nervous wreck.

“Say you take me hostage. You are unarmed, and the second any of my guards see you, you’re dead. Your heist was for naught.” Aaru released a shaky breath. “Say you kill me. You try to run, but you’re inevitably found by one of my guards, and then you’re dead. Even if you make it past my guards and my walls, this quarter of the city has a sword in every corner. You wouldn’t last an hour on the run before you got caught. Do you know what happens to slaves who raise a hand against their masters?”

Aaru shook his head, more so at the situation than at Tistan’s words, and cursed under his breath. He hadn’t thought this through. Nothing good ever happened when he didn’t think things through.

“They are publicly executed. Each of their limbs is placed in a different side of the Main Plaza for the whole city to see. There's no mercy for rebels.” Tistan smiled softly, giving Aaru a pitiful look that he could only see as a mocking grin.

“That will happen to me? Is that what you’re saying?” Tistan shook his head and raised a hand to Aaru’s chest.

“If I truly wanted that, I would have called for Coreio the moment you jumped on me.” Aaru’s brows furrowed and his grip on Tistan’s throat involuntarily softened. “Can you please get off me now?”

Sweat dripped down the Aaru's back. His arms were beginning to cramp, and his head was spinning. He was tired,  _very_ tired. Slowly, his hands were off the young lord’s neck. He looked down, unable to maintain eye contact, and sat on the cushions in an ungraceful thud. Legs akimbo, Aaru buried his face in his hands and breathed out. What was wrong with him? The ominous words of the sacred peaks rang in his head:  _he who bears our mark – **undeserving**_.

“Aaru, listen to me” Tistan placed a hand on the slave’s back, making him flinch. He suddenly felt nauseous. The taste of bile filled his mouth, and before he could stop himself he was throwing up on the floor.  _Mallacāssoi_ , Edrie had called it. Aaru stared at the vomit coating his hands with unfocused eyes, not minding Tistan’s slightly horrified reaction. He was sure he heard the lordling say something beside him, but he didn’t quite understand what, or if it was him who was being addressed. He barely noticed Tistan’s hand on his forehead; this time, he didn’t have the energy to move away from the young lord’s touch.

A high-pitched ring drowned all other sounds, and a chill took over him, as if all the blood had been drained out of him.  _Jhaqi, Sanaa, the mountains_ … He weakly turned to his side, and Tistan’s concerned expression was the last thing he saw before everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Jhezej qamurraagtizaak khramukgu-duun" = "I piss on the graves of your ancestors." How's that for an insult, huh?
> 
> This is the longest chapter so far, and it was a pain in the ass to write! Hope you liked it, though!


	7. The gentle heir

**VII**

**The gentle heir**

“Purpurine,” the physician, Berisso, assured nonchalantly; “without a doubt”. His venous hand left Aaru’s forehead as he returned his attention to Tistan. “It’s in its early stages, so the characteristic rash is yet to surge. But it’ll develop soon.”

“Purpurine” Tistan repeated to himself, eyeing the unconscious man who lay on his bed. Aaru’s bare, sweat-soaked chest rose and fell in violent motions, as if breathing was the hardest task in the world.

The old man nodded. “I’m sure my lord is familiar with the disease...” Tistan hummed in annoyed assent. Everyone knew the purpurine fever. It was deemed a commoners’ illness, as it was rarely contracted by the highborn. Folk wisdom had it that noble blood was immune to the fever, but physicians had known for ages now that the disease was most easily contracted near the brown waters of the Aoro and the Lagro, the two rivers that flanked Corienor and crossed the city’s most precarious quarters. The highborn were only immune for as long as they stayed away from the two rivers’ filthy banks, which they typically did. The symptoms were mildest when the fever was contracted in childhood: vomits, high temperatures, and a distinctive crimson-violet rash, but it was far from a concern for parents of newborns and infants. For a grown man, however, purpurine was no laughing matter.

 “Will he make it?” asked Tistan, shifting his weight from one foot to another in slight discomfort as he fanned himself impatiently. The heat was unbearable.

The old physician ran a hand through his bald head, making the golden feathers that hung from his ears sway from side to side, and made a quizzical face. “There’s no way to be certain this early on, my grace. He’s still young and appears to be in good shape, all in all, but foreigners are less prepared to fight the fever. The disease is not found so far east.”

Tistan pressed his hand against Aaru’s forehead, as the physician had done before. It was so hot one could’ve easily cooked an egg on it. Berisso cleared his throat and continued speaking. “The fever’s cycle usually lasts a couple of days, never more than a week. This night and the next will be critical, but if he’s still breathing come sunrise, we can be hopeful for survival.” Tistan’s hand wandered down the slave’s face, lightly caressing the circular face marks on his cheeks.

“Then make sure he’s still breathing come sunrise” he ordered, fully aware poor Berisso was not in control of such things, but making him responsible regardless. “My chambers are airier than his, so he can stay here for the time being if that’ll help.”

Berisso bowed low as his master turned to leave, but before Tistan could reach for the door, the physician cleared his throat and spoke up in a hesitant tone: “My lord, please do forgive me if I’m out of place…” the man trailed off for a moment under Tistan’s annoyed glare. “There appears to be some sort of…  _bruising_ , around your grace’s neck.” Instinctively, Tistan took his hand to his throat, which was still somewhat sore from Aaru’s attack.  _Damn it_. He’d almost forgotten about that.

The young lord held the physician’s gaze in distrust. Though Berisso had been in the household’s service since before Tistan was even born, he knew the old man was entirely loyal to his mother, and would not dare hold a secret from her, not even if Tistan ordered it. If word got to Lady Verise that Aaru had raised a hand against Tistan, purpurine would be the least of the slave’s concerns.

Making an undignified face, Tistan raised his voice authoritatively in his best Verise Dresaceri impression. “Yes, Berisso, you  _are_  out of place.” The physician opened his mouth like a fish and bowed in subservience. “But if your misplaced curiosity bothers you so, you may rest assured that no pain has been inflected upon me without it being my  _rightful prerogative_.” Not wanting to stay behind and dismiss the physician’s apologies, Tistan stormed off in pretend-outrage. That, he figured, would suffice to cover for Aaru’s ungrateful ass, even if it was at the expense of looking like a masochist in front of the house physician.

Maybe the savage was a misbehaved little shit, but Tistan didn’t feel like slitting his throat yet. Tistan sighed deeply as he walked away, his steps somewhat frantic in honest concern. “ _Sadrie_ ,” he prayed to himself, “ _you better not let him die tonight_.”

Ω

Hours later, three Dresaceris sat at the long wooden table in the manse’s ornate dining hall. Statues of ancestors dead generations ago looked on, their bored stone faces apparently unimpressed as their gentle descendants dined quietly. Tistan was across from his lord father, who was visibly uncomfortable as per usual, while Lady Verise occupied the place of honor at the head of the table.

A servant fanned the trio with impractically ornate flabella that, in reality, did little to placate the merciless summer heat that didn’t seem to relent even as the sun went down outside. Tistan watched disinterestedly as little Edrie finished pouring spiced wine on his father’s silver cup. Lady Verise shot an ugly glare at the slave girl, who scurried off as soon as the cup was full.

It was the first time in weeks that Tistan saw his father, as these days Lord Egassio’s illness typically confined him to the comfort of his own bedchamber, away from his wife and only son. It was an arrangement everyone agreed to, as there was little amity between the elder Dresaceri and the rest of his immediate family. Still, family dinners were an undying tradition that Lady Verise was determined to maintain, even if they took place once every fortnight – or a month.

Lady Verise was the first to speak up, once the assorted plates of food had been laid out on the table: “My dearest son,” she addressed in a dramatic tone, “I’ve heard your savage has fallen ill. Purpurine, is it?”

Lord Egassio turned to his son with a puzzled look painted on his face. “Ah, that’s right!” Tistan’s mother pretended to be surprised, “my beloved Egassio, you have not yet heard of our son’s newest acquisition!” Tistan forced a smile and drank from his cup before facing his father.

“Mother has been gracious enough to gift me a companion from Aose Dardio’s ranks, father” elaborated Tistan. He wasn’t quite sure how to explain the whole ‘savage’ part, but Lady Verise soon took charge of that herself.

“Can you believe our son, Egassio? He’s chosen for himself an untrained mongrel from the far east, with a painted face and all” said Lady Verise, stressing ‘ _untrained mongrel’_  with an irritated edge in her voice. Lord Egassio produced a short, guttural laugh, and for a moment Tistan thought his father was going to choke on the olive he was passing down.

“Well, it was about damn time, if you ask me!” Egassio’s laughter boomed across the hall, and both mother and son grimaced at the man’s informal tone. For a nobleman, Egassio Dresaceri held little regard for the formalities of the highborn. “Here I was, thinking our son would end up throwing himself at the sea over the Savesi boy.” Tistan flinched and turned away from his father, taking a swig from his cup. He was not getting drunk fast enough. Tistan had known it was a matter of time before either of his parents brought Castas up, but being prepared didn’t make it hurt any less. If Lord Egassio noticed his son’s discomfort, he made no sign of it.

“I propose a toast to our Tistan’s first companion!” the man raised his cup high and drank from it, not bothering to wait for his wife or son to follow through. Lady Verise glared at her husband with icy eyes. She was not amused.

“Have you chosen a name for the savage yet?” she asked Tistan, doing her best to ignore the elder man’s antics. Tistan looked down and toyed with the boiled quail egg on his plate, resisting the urge to scrub the itch on his neck, no doubt produced by the thick skin-colored paste Taodie had given him to cover the bruises.

“His name is Aaru” answered Tistan with a low voice. Lady Verise raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips disapprovingly. Across him, his father’s face contorted into a coy smirk.

“ _Aaru?_ ” the name sounded even stranger coming from his mother’s lips. “You’re going to let the savage keep his  _savage_  name?” Tistan shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Oh Verise, are you really surprised?” Lord Egassio interjected. “He’s always had a soft spot for collars, our little Tistan Gentle-heart.” Tistan frowned at the resurgence of a nickname he thought had long been left behind, and sunk deeper into his chair. This was turning into a particularly unbearable evening. Fortunately, Lady Verise was not in the mood to humor her husband.

“Enough of that, though,” Tistan’s mother clasped her hands. “You met with Sissane today. What news did he bring?” Thankful for the change of topic, Tistan regained his composure as he began relaying what the middleman had told him in the gardens earlier that day. The newly enthroned sealord of Allabor had re-opened the city’s port, and done away with all levies imposed on the family’s produce as a ‘sign of gratitude’ for the Dresaceris’ help in putting him in power. It was not uncommon for rich, landholding families of the Capital to meddle with internal affairs of other cities in the Dominion, and often entire cities became satellite states where a couple of rich families from Corienor controlled all business. While not as drastic a change had taken place in Allabor, Lady Verise could now rest assured she wouldn’t encounter any problems in selling her wine and silks in the northern city now that the new sealord owed his position to her.

Tistan couldn’t help but smile as he delivered his report, shooting quick glances at his father, who was growing visibly bored by the minute. As the nameholder of the family, Lady Verise was in charge of managing all of the house’s commercial affairs, though she delegated some of her minor responsibilities to Tistan, who was expected to become nameholder when she died. Tistan’s father was nothing but a by-stander in this dynamic. Since he belonged to a lower-ranking family than his wife, he’d had to give up his name upon marriage, and had no right to the Dresaceri treasure. Lord Egassio’s sole task was to give his wife an heir – which he had done fairly well, in Tistan’s opinion – and stand by her side in some court events, but his illness had rendered him unable to perform the latter, so by now the man was virtually useless for both Tistan and his mother. Though they had never spoken much about it, Tistan could imagine this was the main reason his father was not so fond of him – or his mother.  

Thankfully for the young lord, Sissane’s auspicious news delighted Lady Verise so much, she didn’t mention Aaru or Castas for the rest of the dinner. As for Lord Egassio, he remained silent all night, which Tistan appreciated as well. By the time dinner was over, the moon was high in the sky and candlelight lit the labyrinthine halls of the manse.

Back in his chamber, Tistan stood by the open balcony, basking on what little breeze came his way. The only sound around was that of Aaru’s harsh breathing on his bed. Up in the sky, a complete host of stars shone intermittently, commanded by the bright silver disk of the moon, which was beginning to wane. Tistan huffed anxiously as he thought of how long he still had to wait before Ardo’s festival.  _Less than a week_ , he reminded himself.  _Too long_. It had already been too long.

That night, Tistan Dresaceri dreamed in monochrome: red hair, red marks, and red eyes, all swirling around him menacingly like a pack of angry wolves. He saw a gentlewoman getting ready for her wedding, and a sailor flinging himself at the sea. He dreamed of a firebird, rising in the east like a defiant sun, and an ocean of blood that swallowed it whole.

He woke up with the taste of salt in his mouth.


	8. The warrior

** VIII **

** The warrior **

The familiar voice never stopped ringing in Aaru’s head, always calling for him. Sometimes it called for a brother, and other times it called him by his name. He was too tired to answer, and so he ignored it, even as the calls grew louder and pestered him relentlessly. This time, though, the voice called a different name, and Aaru couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“ _Nirkaa_.”

He gathered the strength to answer. “That’s not my name.” He wasn’t sure if he’d actually said it out loud, or if he only dreamed of saying it. At that point, he couldn’t know for sure what was real and what wasn’t. He was engulfed in endless nothing – only him, and the voice.

“You should not lie to me, brother” the voice chastised. “I remember what mother named you, that night you were born.” The voice was now beginning to sound clearer, as if its source were closer to him.  _It_ , because he knew it wasn’t actually Sanaa. Sanaa would not be in a place like this, she  _couldn’t_  be. The voice continued: “it was such a cold summer, that one. Snow fell from the sky, like in the winter, and the sun was dark behind thick cloaks of pale clouds. The elders thought  _Qajequ_  had fallen upon us. But nothing happened. Mother was so happy when you were born. She loved you so much, Nirkaa.”

Aaru was unfazed. He’d heard that story time and time again. This was not Sanaa; he would not entertain the faceless voice with conversation. “That’s not my name,” he repeated, and before the voice could protest again, he quickly added: “anymore.” The voice chuckled.

“You’re always running from something, aren’t you, brother?” Aaru remained silent. “You want to believe Bataajhang has made a warrior of you, but you’re still a boy.”

Aaru felt something close to outrage, though his mind was as tired as his body, and he didn’t push back with as much bite as he’d wanted to. “I am Aaru of the River, marked in red. I am a son of Khagaru of the River, marked in red,” he replied, but words sounded rehearsed, as if he was trying to convince himself more than the voice. “I am a sentry of Qarajhangaak. I am…” the voice didn’t have the grace to let him finish.

“…my little brother,” it interrupted. “A son of Sadru, marked in red, peaceful lies her spirit.” The voice in the darkness was no longer clear and close, and as it spoke it appeared to drift away from him, turning into a dull echo. “You’re still Nirkaa. And you’re still a boy.”

After that, the voice said nothing else, and its incessant calls stopped. The oppressing void became quiet, and Aaru was submerged into an inexplicable sadness. He knew the voice wasn’t really his sister, but at least it anchored him to something. Now, in the infinite silence, he was completely lost.

He was never fully awake. Sometimes, he could hear other voices, and he knew they weren’t in his head since they spoke the Western tongue he disliked so much, though he could never pick up any words, just dim murmurs in the distance. A couple of times he even opened his eyes: once it was nighttime, and in that occasion he felt a cool breeze graze his sweat-drenched skin. Another time an intruding light shone so bright it could have only been the sun, but his tired eyes were too weak to stay open. A couple of times he was woken by an alarming feeling coming from the pit of his gut, and he’d jolt awake as the contents of his stomach emerged from his mouth and onto himself. He’d been too weak to even try and clean himself, but he’d also been too weak to care.

During a couple of those ephemeral returns to the real world, he would open his eyes and be met by a pair of big golden orbs staring at him intently. Tistan Dresaceri would always try to speak to him, but Aaru never had the strength to answer – or the desire, for that matter. The young lord’s handsome face was not the only one he saw, as sometimes the slave woman named Taodie would be there too. He never saw the little girl, Edrie, but for all he knew she could’ve just been standing at the foot of his bed all along. It hardly mattered.

Time ceased to be a real concept. Aside from his occasional resurgences to consciousness, he was always submerged in the dark abyss, which could only be a place in which time didn’t exist. Days could be minutes, and hours could be weeks; in his state, he had no way to know for sure.

Pockets of consciousness would emerge in the darkness, and during those short lapses he would wonder what had taken over him. He could feel the pounding in his head and the feverish heat that burned through every inch of his being. Was he sick? He’d never experienced sickness like this before. For an instant, the thought of being poisoned crossed his mind. Had the lordling poisoned him in reprimand for daring to raise a hand against him? If this was his punishment, Aaru thought bitterly, he would have preferred to be publicly executed.

It was nighttime when Aaru finally came to be. His eyes fluttered open weakly, and for the first time, they didn’t feel as heavy that he needed to close them back right away. The first thing he felt was the thirst; his throat felt as if he’d swallowed a fist of sand. He slowly sat up on his bed, forcing his limbs to comply even as they sent signals of protest across his entire body. He’d been lying down for too long. Now sitting, his head began pounding even harder, and a low whine escaped his lips as he buried his face in his hands.

“Go back to sleep, child, you’re too weak” Aaru looked up to his right, where Taodie was sitting on a cushioned stool. She gave him a warm smile. In her hands she held a string of beads.

He tried to clear his throat. “Water” he asked, and the woman hurried to a low table by the bedside, which contained a silver pitcher and some cups. As he looked around, Aaru realized he was not in his room. This chamber was much bigger, with a higher ceiling and a large balcony to his front. From his bed, Aaru could see the moon and some stars.

Taodie handed him the cup of water and sat back on her chair, watching over him with seemingly genuine concern. Once he was finished, he handed the cup back to her and their eyes met for a brief instant. Her bright blue eyes shone beautifully in the candlelight, which reflected off her abundant jewelry and her collar. Then, another realization hit him, and swiftly, his hands were on his neck. The collar was gone.

Taodie noticed the surprise on his face and hummed. “The young lord thought you’d be more comfortable without it,” she explained simply. Aaru frowned. He was certain Tistan was livid at him, or at least upset. Why would he want him to be comfortable? Taodie appeared to notice his confusion, and tried to elaborate: “…he likes you.”  _Like._  The little girl had said the same. Aaru pushed it away and focused on the woman instead. He was in no state to process complicated thoughts.

“You’re not from here” Aaru said, more a statement than a question. The woman opened her eyes slightly, as if surprised he would ask her that question – or any question, really. He was ‘not much of a talker’, after all. Taodie hummed and placed the beads down on her lap.

“No, I am not,” she finally said. “I come from a land north of here. The Vahay know it as Meralie.” Aaru nodded. He’d never heard of such a place, but he knew there were many lands north of the Sunset Empire that were under the Vahays’ yoke. He wondered if everyone in that place looked the way she did, dark-reddish hair, bright eyes and skins pale like winter spirits, but he didn’t ask that.

“Were you always a slave?” he asked instead. He wasn’t sure why he was asking these questions, or why he cared. Perhaps it was the collar around her neck, or her kind and calm demeanor, but he felt he could trust this woman – as much as he could trust a foreigner.

Taodie smiled and shook her head. “No, I was taken here when I was a little child.”

Aaru tried to imagine what it was like for a small girl to go through what he’d been through, being taken from her home, put in chains and brought to this place where nothing made sense. A child, scared and alone, forced into submission and trained into obedience. Aaru felt completely repulsed by the thought. “Have you ever tried to leave?”

Taodie chuckled. “No one gets used to the weight of the collar right away. I did try to go back home.” She made a sad face, and it reminded Aaru of how one would look condescendingly at a small kid that inquired into the matters of adults. “No runaway makes it past the city walls, child. It’s a pointless task.”

Aaru opened his mouth to protest, but Taodie stood up before he could speak. The conversation was over. She placed a hand on his forehead, and it felt warm and dry on Aaru’s skin. Her usual smile was back.

“Your fever is down. Berisso will want to see you,” she declared. She picked up her beads and pocketed them inside her robe. “The young lord has taken an interest in you, child. The sooner you accept what you are now, the easier it will be – and then you will realize just how fortunate you are.”

Taodie returned after a while with an old man with a beak nose and golden feathers hanging from his ears. Without speaking a word or laying a hand on him, the man examined Aaru closely. It was only when the old man posed his eyes on his chest that Aaru noticed the purple-tinted rash that had settled there. In the dim candlelight he couldn’t see it very well, but it was definitely there. When had he got that? Once the man’s examination was over, he nodded at Taodie and left on his own.

When the two of them were alone again, Taodie took Aaru’s hands on her own and squeezed. “Blessed Sadrie is good, child. You’ll be fine,” she assured enthusiastically. Aaru was not sure what Taodie meant, but he nodded at her regardless. “You should get some rest now, it’s well past midnight.”

Aaru didn’t sleep at all that night. Even as his eyelids grew heavy and the dull smell of incense made him drowsy, his eyes remained open until dawn. He was terrified of falling asleep and not waking up, of returning to the half-conscious state in which he had been before. Instead, he thought. He thought of his brothers and sisters, who had been captured with him. Did they sleep wrapped in perfumed silks, or were they delivered the promise of servitude in the mines? He thought of Taodie, as a young girl, taken from her home and sold to the slavers. And he thought of Tistan Dresaceri, who liked him, but insisted on making a slave of him. Aaru decided Tistan was a strange man, which was fitting, as he came from a strange city.

Sunrise found Aaru standing by the balcony, staring numbly at the sky. Even as the sun started to cross the threshold of the horizon, the firmament was painted in a myriad of saturated colors, and not a cloud in sight. From his spot, Aaru could see the whole city: armies of colorful roofs, tents and labyrinthine thoroughfares. Down by the port, countless ships were docked and many others moved slowly in and out the harbor. He wondered if one of those ships was the one that had taken him here, and realized bitterly that many of them were probably bringing people from foreign lands to be sold to the slavers. Were any of them from the plains of the Yuu? He hoped not. Beyond the ships was the open sea, upon which the sun’s reflection was a turbulent path of light in the water.

The conversation with Taodie echoed in his head. ‘No runaway makes it past the city walls’, she’d said. How many had tried, though? He knew Taodie had, and she had failed. He’d failed, too, and he was supposed to be a trained warrior.  _Not a boy_. Maybe escaping  _was_  impossible, after all. Still, he would catch his brain making little plans, scouting escape routes or thinking of which table centerpiece was most fit to be used as a weapon. He was far from ready to give up.

“You’re up early,” Tistan’s familiar voice made Aaru turn away from the spectacle in the sky, and from his own reveries. In the warm sunlight, Tistan’s spotless skin seemed to glow on its own, and his amber eyes beamed like molten gold. He wore a mint green robe that left half of his chest exposed, adorned with bronze coins that hung from the borders of the fabric, and a matching belt made of the same coins loosely surrounded his waist. The untamed curls were crowned by a diadem not unlike the one he’d worn the other day in the gardens. How long had it been since that day? Aaru could not tell.

Tistan approached him slowly, walking to his side and reclining slightly against the marble balustrade, an unreadable expression on his face. Out of reflex, the thought of pushing Tistan down the balcony – it was a good three stories before he’d hit the ground –crossed Aaru’s mind, but he quickly dismissed the idea.

“My physician says you’ve had a swift recovery,” stated Tistan in a rather formal tone. Avoiding eye contact, Aaru returned his attention to the ongoing sunrise. Staying silent was by now his default response, like a wild animal playing dead and hoping his assailants get bored and leave. But Tistan Dresaceri was just as stubborn as he was, and apparently much better rested.

“Do you know what happened to you?” he asked, and then proceeded to interpret Aaru’s silence as a negative. “You were sick with a fever.” Without thinking it, Aaru raised his hand to his own chest, where the ugly-colored rash was beginning to dissipate. A fever, was it?

_ Like mother _ .

The two said nothing after that, and eventually Tistan turned his attention to the sky as well. But ignoring Tistan was getting harder by the second. The lordling’s presence was like an itch, and Taodie’s words resonated in Aaru’s head once again: ‘ _he likes you_ ’.  _Like_. Aaru didn’t understand how one could like someone one  _owned_.

Finally, with a curse on his lips, Aaru turned to face the other man and spoke: “Why have you not killed me?”

Tistan gave him a strange look, as if surprised that he’d spoken on initiative, and frowned. “Why would I want to kill you?”

Aaru struggled to find the right words, suddenly less proficient in the language. “I raised my hand against you. Slaves who do that are executed – arms and legs in the plaza-” he stammered, sighing in exasperation. He hated these people’s impossible tongue. “Why,” he restarted as he stared straight into Tistan’s eyes, “have you not killed me?”

Tistan’s frown turned into a passive expression. “I don’t want to harm you. You’re my companion now; it is my responsibility to look after your wellbeing.”

Aaru groaned to himself. How could Tistan not understand the contradicting nature of his words? “I don’t want to be your companion.”

Tistan’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He made a puzzled face, as if genuinely perplexed by what Aaru had said, and it dawned in Aaru that slaves probably never relied their personal desires to their masters, their reluctance to wear the collar. Tistan’s slaves would surely have all been well trained and obedient, so it would not be often that the young lord heard such complaints from his serfdom. Aaru decided to push it.

“I don’t want to be your slave. I want to go home.”

Tistan blinked. “You can’t.” It was not a command, but an observation. Still, Aaru was having none of it.

“You say you want me to be at comfortable in your house. You say you want me to be at ease. You do not understand, and you do not listen. I do not belong here. I do not belong to  _you_ ,” he could have screamed, but his voice was firm as he took a step closer to Tistan. “All your gold and silver, it cannot buy me. I am free.”

Tistan shook his head. “You  _were_  free, and now you are not. You cannot liberate yourself out of sheer will, Aaru. That’s not how things work. Gold and silver bought you, and now you are mine.”

Another step and Aaru was inches away from Tistan. The young lord appeared collected, but Aaru could see the uncertainty in Tistan’s eyes and the sweat drop falling down his forehead. For the first time since he’d arrived to this damned city, Aaru felt like a warrior, like  _himself_.

“Am I less of a man? Or can I buy you too, Tistan Dresaceri?” Aaru hissed, and to Tistan’s credit, he didn’t flinch even as Aaru took a fist of his silky drape.

They held each other’s gazes for a moment. Aaru could feel his own heart trying to jump out of his chest. Tistan was the first to speak, and close as they were, Aaru could smell the lemon balm in his breath.

“Coreio,” he called, and in his peripheral view Aaru saw the guard woman emerge into the balcony. “My companion appears to have fully recovered. See to it that he is collared again.”

When the woman placed her hands on Aaru’s shoulders to separate him from Tistan, Aaru didn’t resist. He didn’t resist when he was taken from the room and led to his previous quarters, nor did he resist when the collar was put around his neck again, or when his door was closed and he was caged like an animal in the gaudiest cage ever made. He knew now that sort of resistance was futile. Yes, he was a warrior, but two fists couldn’t defeat a hundred blades; whatever fight he put up, he would be easily overpowered.

It was true that no plan he came up with would be good enough to get past this city’s defenses; this was, after all, a city made to keep slaves in.  _That’s not how things work_. But there had to be other ways to get out. Only fools bumped against the same rock twice, and Aaru had bumped against the same rock more than once. Now he had to change his strategy. Taodie’s words kept ringing in his head, much like Sanaa’s voice in the dark, only now he knew what to make of them.  _He likes you_.

Would Tistan like him enough to set him free? Perhaps not yet, but Aaru had seen the doubt in the young lord’s amber eyes, the weak spot in the middle of combat. Aaru’s best weapon was himself.

And he had just figured a way to use it.

 


	9. The abeyant prince

**IX**

**The abeyant prince**

Sweat dripped down Tistan’s back as he moved with hurried steps down the ample hallways that led to his mother’s chambers. He huffed audibly as the sting in calves and the heaving pain in his chest all reminded him of his poor physical state. Behind him, Coreio appeared to be unbothered as she kept his pace, her armor making all sorts of clinking and stretching noises as she moved. He wondered how it was that she kept her composure inside her heavy armor, though by now it was hardly surprising to him.

Tistan groaned as they made a sharp turn towards a set of spiraling stairs. After spending the night in the Sealord’s villa, Tistan’s mother had returned to the Dresaceri manse early in the morning and summoned him with urgency. ‘ _Now_ ’, the breathless messenger had relayed, before quickly sustaining those had been Lady Verise’s exact words.

Another gasp – this time, much louder – escaped Tistan’s lips as they reached the top of the staircase, and soon he was doubled over, hands on his knees as he tried to inhale as much air as he could through his mouth. In a flash, Coreio was by his side.

“Your grace, are you alright?” she asked, placing her hand on his shoulder. Tistan took a moment to catch his breath, and smiled at her, somewhat embarrassed.

“I’m good, Coreio,” he waved his hand dismissively. “I haven’t been walking as much as before, that’s all.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s go. We don’t want to keep mother waiting.”

Tistan found his mother sitting at her desk by the large balcony, drinking from a silver cup encrusted with amethysts. He could tell it was wine just by her expression. Lady Verise had seen better days: she had dark bags under her eyes and her long hair was loose and tangled. One of her usual collars, a Qoiri boy no older than ten, fanned her with hurry. When she saw Tistan come in, she dismissed the boy and sat up straight.

“I was starting to think you would never show up. Did you come all the way from Idrenor?” she snapped. Tistan looked back and nodded at Coreio, who exited the room and closed the door behind her. Whatever was happening was serious.

“Mother,” he greeted, his breath still not quite there. “You look terrible.” Lady Verise forced a smile, and Tistan cleared his throat. “What’s so important you had to terrorize the messenger into growing wings?”

“That’s fine, joke all you want now,” she said, before drinking from her cup. “We won’t be allowed to laugh for some time. Dechio Taodossi is dead.”

Tistan had to do a double take. Had he heard well? “Dechio Taodossi as in, the _Sealord_?”

Lady Verise raised her eyebrow. “Why, do you know any other?” Tistan pinched his nose bridge, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. “He was poisoned last night.”

 _Poisoned_. “Crap,” he said. “This is going to be a mess.” Then, a realization hit him so hard he couldn’t help but voice it out loud. “Oh, damn it, the festival-“

Verise gave him an incredulous look. “In Sadrie’s name, Tistan, I tell you the Sealord has been assassinated and the first thing you think about is the stupid festival?” Tistan didn’t even bother making up an explanation. “There’ll be no festival, there’ll be no _nothing_. Taodossi was pledged to Ardo, and he died in _Ardo’s month_. We’ll be lucky if we only get three months of official mourning.”

Tistan could’ve laughed. Ardo’s festival was due to start tomorrow. One day left to see Castas, and now their plans were evaporating like a shallow puddle under the hot summer sun. The assassins couldn’t have waited a moon more before ruining it all?

His mother continued: “When the swords find out the old bastard was poisoned the whole city will go on lockdown. I reckon a couple of heads will have to roll before we can move freely outside the quarter.”

Inside Tistan’s head, the sound of crumbling walls and ships wrecking pounded and drowned everything else. This couldn’t simply be ill-timing; the gods had to be laughing at him right then.

“Tistan, listen to me,” Lady Verise placed the cup on the table and stood up to put her arm around Tistan’s waist, leading him to a cushioned divan by a corner. “You need to get ready now. Every step we take will be crucial. I’ve spent the last twenty years preparing you – preparing us – for this moment; doing the work for the _both of us_ …” she ran a hand through her mess of a hair. Tistan had never seen her like this, completely undone. “Now I’m going to need you to do your part.”

Tistan shook his head. “Mother, I think you should rest…” he began to stand up, but was stopped by her hand gripping tightly at his wrist.

“ _You’re not going anywhere_ ,” she ordered. Tistan gulped down and sat. “I have carried the weight of our name for _nineteen years_ ; I have restored our rank and honored our legacy. We were _kings_ , Tistan. I named you for one, and now it is time that you act the part.”

“I have no idea what you’re trying to say,” he deferred nervously. His mother’s hand was still holding his right wrist with a falcon’s grip.

Lady Verise sighed exasperatedly. “Sadrie be kind, sometimes I think you got your wits from your father,” she quipped, clearly irritated. “In a month’s time, some poor idiot will have been enthroned to replace the old Taodossi oaf. To which patron god will that poor idiot be pledged?”

Tistan didn’t need to reminisce of his childhood lessons to answer that. He remembered the cycle well: Ardo, Tisso, Sadrie, Rago, Coirie. Every Sealord of Corienor was pledged to one of the five higher gods. Once a Sealord died, the successor had to be pledged to the next god in the cycle. It had been the same for over five hundred years.

Even so, he hesitated as he answered: “The poor idiot will be pledged… to Tisso?” he asked. _Bringer of currents, god of the winds_. His mother nodded.

“Yes, Tisso. And then?”

Tistan sighed dramatically. “Is there a point to this, mother?” She gave him an icy look. “Sadrie. Sadrie goes after Tisso, and then Rago, and then Coirie, and then Ardo again.”

She nodded dismissively. “Sadrie, after Tisso. Once the next idiot’s done for, it’ll be our chance, Tistan. _Your_ chance.”

Tistan blinked, his mouth agape, and he shuddered at the realization of what his mother was saying. He could practically feel the color being drained from his skin.

“That’s… mother, no. It’ll be so long before… and _how?_ The priests bear the crown to give, they pick their own candidates…” he stuttered, trying to find a logical way out from his mother’s suggestion. She shook her head.

“Do you really think this city has become the capital of the biggest empire this world has ever seen by leaving the most important decisions to _priests_?” she said, making use of her typical condescending tone. “Dorine Levias will be the next Sealord. She’s been the unofficial heir to the throne for the past six years or so. She’s the right age, married to the right name, born into an even fitter one. She’s well-liked and known across the Dominion, and her time in the Qoiri vanguard made her popular among the swords. The high priests will be locked in the Wisdom Gardens for a week, give or take, and then they’ll announce their ‘decision’ to the high lords of the city, who by now all either know or suspect what it will be.”

Tistan sat in silence, not so much stunned at his mother’s revelations, but rather mortified by the realization of what they meant for him. It was now obvious to him: the parties filled with noblemen, the monthly services in the Moon Temple, the visits to the Sealord’s court. She hadn’t just been parading him as the next Dresaceri nameholder. She was grooming him as a suitable _heir-presumptive_ to the highest position in the Dominion.

“I won’t do it,” he heard himself saying, though the words had come out of his mouth before his brain could figure out a better way to say them. Tistan braced himself for the imminent storm.

“You _will_.” Lady Verise’s face contorted into an ugly mask, her eyebrows curving downwards and her lips disappearing into a thin, pursed line. “I have not dedicated my life to you for you to throw this opportunity away like this.”

An inexplicable fear had taken hold of him, and when Tistan spoke his voice nearly cracked: “You cannot make me do it, mother, I-“ _I don’t want to do it_. As if by divine justice, his own words to Aaru were back to haunt him: _that’s not how things work_. Of course she could make him do it, and of course it didn’t matter if he wanted to or not.

Lady Verise stood up and shot him a commanding look, her eyes dark and slanted. “You _will_ do this, Tistan, willingly or otherwise. I have been lenient and permissive; I have allowed you to have it your own way more than once. Now I won’t. You _will_ be the next Sealord of Corienor, Tistan Dresaceri. You owe to your name. You owe it to _me_.” A threat was left unsaid, but lingered in the air nonetheless.

He looked down. There was nothing left to say. Tistan knew what the consequences of refusing to comply were, and he was not willing to face them. He knew nothing was beneath his mother when she was determined on getting something – and she already knew his all weak spots.

Lady Verise gently took hold of Tistan’s chin, and cupped his face as she made him look up and face her.

“Tell me you understand, Tistan.” Her voice was now calm and collected. She was in control again. Tistan’s answer came in the form of a barely audible murmur, but that was enough for her. She knew she’d already won.

“I understand.” Even in defeat, the irony was not lost on Tistan Dresaceri, that the future overlord of the greatest slave-trading city in the world was his own mother’s slave.

Lady Verise smiled softly and let go of Tistan’s face and returned to her desk, where she poured herself more wine before turning to her son again.

“Oh, and Tistan,” she said nonchalant, “I don’t know what sort of games you’ve been playing with your savage, and I couldn’t care less, either. But make sure he doesn’t get the impression that the one wearing the collar is you.”

Ω

Tistan stormed into his chambers and slammed the wooden door behind him. His eyes darted around the room for the most vulnerable object he could find, and settled for an exquisite vase made of fine tinted glass, with patterns in translucent colors. When had he got that? It’d been a gift from some courtier lord whose name he didn’t care to remember. _A future subject_. He took it carelessly into his hands, and without sparing another look at it, promptly threw it on the ground with all the strength his arms could muster, rejoicing in the cacophony it produced as it shattered into a thousand pieces against the marbled floor. It was a marvelous sound, loud and aggressive and entirely inappropriate.

Tistan had always been a well-behaved child, calm and intellectual. He’d shown an affinity for numbers early on, and so his mother had hired the best tutors the royal court could offer to cultivate this gift. Numbers were easy. They made sense, in a strangely beautiful way; their logic was infallible. When Tistan turned six-and-ten, his mother began entrusting him with minor responsibilities of the family trade. Simple tabs, written on books that were usually handled by mousy accountants so far down the social ladder they never even saw Lady Verise in person. Tistan was content enough to deal with numbers scribbled in dusty pages, though his mother was reluctant to approve of him dealing in nameless tasks. 

“Coreio!” he called, the name bringing bile to his mouth. He was sure the guard had told his mother about the incident in the balcony. _Of course_ his most trusted sword would betray him with his mother. Who else was working against him? Taodie? Little Edrie?

Coreio emerged at once, and answered with a nervous urgency to her voice: “Your grace?”

Tistan shot her a cold look. “Bring him to me.” There was no need for names.

Moments later, the guard pushed Aaru into the room. Next to Coreio, Tistan’s companion looked like a kid; he was nearly a foot shorter than her. The difference in garments was also rather jarring: Aaru’s wore airy pants and went around barefoot and bare-chested, while Coreio’s armor covered her whole in steel, iron and bronze. Tistan dismissed the guard, who left with some reluctance. He couldn’t trust her anymore.

A panicked look took over Aaru’s face as he noticed the broken glass on the ground. He was still standing by the door, looking invariably tense. They hadn’t seen each other since Aaru’s recovery two days before, and surely the slave was under the impression that Tistan was upset with him – which, he was, somewhat.

“Come,” he ordered. As usual, Aaru ignored him, choosing to remain petrified by the door, where he’d been placed. His eyes were wide open, staring straight into Tistan’s with intent.

“ _Come_ ,” Tistan repeated, this time letting an edge slip into his voice. Unlike in their past encounters, this time around he lacked the patience to deal with the savage’s insolence.

As if tacitly understanding this, Aaru obeyed and breached the gap between them with cautious steps. Now a mere foot from each other, Tistan could notice the stiffness of Aaru’s shoulders, and the way his arms were glued to his sides. A single sweat drop rolled down Aaru’s forehead, then passing by the circular mark on his cheek.

Tistan took Aaru’s face in his hand, placing his thumb over the mark. Despite the intrusion, Aaru stayed in place and didn’t flinch back from Tistan’s touch, though his dark eyes remained defiant. _Still unbroken_. Tistan felt a spark of envy lit up inside him.

 “What do these mean?” he asked, pressing his thumb lightly against Aaru’s skin. He was tired of waiting for the savage to open up on his own. Aaru was _his_ companion, _his_ collar. Collars didn’t have the right to own anything, not even secrets.

To Tistan’s surprise, Aaru responded without much hesitation. “ _Akshamurqu_ ,” he said. “Bloodmarks. They are the pride of my clan. They were given to me by my father, who was marked by his father in place.”

Tistan thought about how even in the confines of the world, a man’s family shaped his life. Aaru bore his ancestors on his skin, and Tistan in his name.

He let go of Aaru’s face.

“You will never be free again. You need to understand that,” he said, the frustration helplessly taking over his tone. Was he talking to Aaru, or to himself? “You will always wear the collar. You will always be a slave.”

Aaru remained stoically composed, somehow unperturbed by Tistan’s provocations.

“Will you sell me if I don’t serve you well?” he asked. “I was to be sent to the mines with my people until you claimed me for yourself.”

Tistan was mildly outraged. “Do you wish to be sent to the mines, then?” he retorted. “Would you rather mine the gold I don than be showered in it? It can be arranged, if you so fervently despise the attentions and care you have received in my household.”

Aaru huffed. “I am caged inside four walls all day, every day. I have not felt the sun in my skin in days. You say I am your companion, but I never keep you company. I don’t do _anything_. What have you bought me for?”

Tistan groaned to himself in irritation. When had the savage become so opinionated? “I didn’t want you,” he countered, raising his voice. “ _My mother_ bought you. I don’t need a companion. You’re my punishment for disobeying her orders, and you’re quite frankly great at it!”

Unable to hold Aaru’s gaze any longer, Tistan sat down on his bed and stared at the broken glass on the floor. He hated how every single aspect of his life was, in some way, intruded by his mother. His only refuge from her controlling hand had been Castas, and now he had been taken away from him too. _My own mother’s slave_.

Aaru’s brows furrowed. “You cannot free me.” It was a statement, not a question.

“You don’t deserve any of this. But you’re stuck with me, and I’m stuck with you,” said Tistan, the sentiment of defeasance settling over him once more. He was not like Aaru. He knew there was no point in resisting; all attempts at fighting back were for naught. Things were the way they were, and there was nothing that Tistan – or let alone, Aaru – could do to change that.

Aaru sat down on the bed beside Tistan at a comfortable distance. They remained in silence for a moment, during which neither of them could muster the will to look at each other. A sense of dread fell upon the sun-lit chamber, until Aaru broke the silence.

“You say I’m your punishment for disobeying your mother,” he started, a careful tone in his voice. “What did you do?”

Tistan sighed, and considered not answering. Any other master would have issued a reprimand for asking out-of-place questions. _Tistan Gentle-heart, too soft on collars_.

“I have a… _friend_ ,” Tistan said, trying to find the right words to explain everything. He’d never told anyone the whole truth. “He belongs to a minor family, a _disgraced_ family. His parents did awful things, and his name was deprived of its rank. My mother isn’t too keen on him being around me. She says someone whose name has been disgraced should not be anywhere near someone of _our stature_ ,” as he spoke, Tistan could feel the anger simmering deep inside him. “All my life I’ve been surrounded by men and women of noble birth, and all they care about is their rank. They smile at you and sing praises when you face them, but the second you’re out of sight they rip you to shreds. They’re all snakes, drunk on their own venom, fighting to see who can sit on top of whom for just a moment,” his fists clenched the sheets of his bed.

“But Castas isn’t like that. He doesn’t have a name or rank to uphold, he’s been stripped of everything for things he didn’t do. He’s the only one who talks to me like a normal person, without trying to see what he can gain from me. And I guess my mother doesn’t like that. She forbade me from talking to him, ever. She warned that I would regret disobeying her,” he laughed sarcastically, the heart-wrenching memories of the near past coming to haunt him like ghosts. “But I still did. I disobeyed her, and I was careless, and I got caught. And she made me regret it with every fiber of my being.”

Aaru was staring at him attently. Tistan didn’t have any reason to tell him any of this, but he couldn’t help but indulge in the feeling of release that rushed through him. The weight of a secret was being lifted off his shoulders, even if he felt as powerless and defeated as before.

Tistan let out a shaky breath and continued: “After they found us, Castas disappeared. I didn’t hear anything from him for a month, and I couldn’t ask anyone either. I knew my mother had gotten to him, and I came to fear the worst… She bought you for me to ‘distract’ me from him,” he nodded in Aaru’s direction. “I didn’t ask to be born into my name, just as he didn’t ask to be born into his. But I would give it all up if I could.”

Without warning, Aaru placed a hand on Tistan’s shoulder and spoke with earnest simplicity: “I’m sorry.”

Tistan flashed a weak smile. “Don’t apologize. You had nothing to do with all this.”

Aaru didn’t quite return the smile, but a light squeeze on his shoulder told Tistan all he needed to know. It was only his luck that he would find comfort in relaying his grievances to a slave, but at least he was making good use of his companion for once.

Then, abruptly, he remembered Charie Thebardai. ‘Should you ever be in need to reach him, the gates to Vaelo’s temple are always open’, she’d said. If Castas had trusted her, could Tistan trust her too? _I won’t know unless I try_. It’s not like he had anyone else, either.

The house of Vaelo was in the Old Quarter, not far from the Lavender Quarter of the Dresaceri manse. Still, by then the swords would have already heard of the Sealord’s assassination, and they would be rushing to block all the gates and bridges in the city. Time was a precious resource of which he had less each passing moment. If he was going to act, he had to be fast.

Tistan’s natural caution made him stop and hesitate. Was it worth the trouble? He’d already risked too much at the expense of others, and now the stakes were only higher.

 _Yes_. It was worth it. They’d been separated long enough, and Tistan was not letting this slim opportunity go. Perhaps resistance was futile, but if there was no way out of his mother’s plans at least he would allow himself the sufficient subversion to maintain his weakened individuality. Even if it had to be one last time, he would see Castas and he would not allow his mother stop him.

Tistan stood up and ran a hand through his hair, which was damp with sweat and caked to his forehead. A play was unfolding inside his head, acted out by courses of action, possible outcomes and odds either for or against him. Time was running out, he needed a plan of his own, and he had no one to trust anymore. No one but…

“Aaru,” he finally said, unable to contain the nervous tremble in his voice. “I’m going to need your help with something.”


	10. The sword

**X**

**The sword**

“We have to be quick,” Tistan Dresaceri murmured in an agitated huff, like a doomed man’s prayer to an impious god. By now, Aaru was nearly certain the young lord was only talking to himself. He was never closer than two steps in front of Aaru, leading the way through the winding galleries of the manse with an unforgiving pace.

 _I’m going to need your help with something_. Tistan had barely waited for Aaru’s confused nod of approval before taking off in a sprint, urging him to stay close behind. ‘We have to be quick’, he’d said, and since then Aaru had heard the young lord assert the same thing twice.

“Where are we going?” Aaru asked as he trailed behind, no longer willing to put up with Tistan’s secretive behavior. Tistan stopped and turned back to him with an irritated expression on his face.

“We’re going out. I’m going to see someone, and I need you to come with me,” he explained, matter-of-factly. “Can you wield a sword?”

 _A sword?_ Aaru stammered. “Yes, but why-”

Tistan cut him short with a hand on his forearm, squeezing softly, amber eyes intensely fixed on him. When he spoke, his words bore just enough weight to dispel Aaru’s uncertainty: “No harm will come to you. That, I promise.”

Tistan resumed his pace and Aaru had to take a moment before following, slightly taken aback by the young lord’s reassurance. _I promise_. A warm sting lingered where their skins had met.

Aaru’s heart raced as he took in Tistan’s words. They were going outside, into the city, away from this labyrinthine monster of a fortress that Tistan called home. He briefly wondered if the _someone_ they were going to see was that Castas, of whom Tistan had spoken with such benevolence and sadness. It wasn’t lost on Aaru how his master had masters of his own, and how with all his riches and prestige, the young lord was still not free to do as he willed.

It hardly mattered. He had to stay focused. The one wearing the collar was _him_ , not Tistan. He’d already appeared to gain the lordling’s trust, and now he was being armed and taken out into the city. Aaru would have more than a chance to finally make his escape. If Tistan didn’t own the key to his freedom, Aaru would have to forge it himself.

They took a set of spiraling stairs downwards, and Aaru instantly recognized the lower floors where he’d been taken when he first arrived. Unlike the airy, sunlit hallways above, down here the only source of light were sparse torches hanging from the walls, and each step they took caused a dull, reverberating echo. The enormity of this place never ceased to amaze him.

Finally, Tistan took a halt before a large wooden door and briefly turned to him. “You’ll… probably need to change,” he panted absently. With an effortful push on the gate, they entered what appeared to be a dark, spacious armory. Aaru allowed himself a small grin. He was ready to ditch the silky pants.

“The guards aren’t around at this hour, but we don’t have much time. Grab whatever you want.” Tistan pointed towards a tall stand with swords and spears of different sizes and shapes. Most of them were of the typical Vahay style: straight, long and heavy, and probably made for someone twice his size. Aaru scanned the stand for a moment and finally settled for the smallest blade he could find, a double-edge that was still somehow longer than his entire arm. He inspected it up-close and felt its weight on his hand; it’d been a while since he’d been properly armed.

“These are the smallest I could find,” Tistan said as he emerged once again with a bundle of folded clothes on his hands: a short, simple tunic, a pair of brown woolen pants, a belt from which to hang his blade, and sandals with long skin laces. He spared them a look and shrugged. They were not the _ksarqu_ and _kebrang_ he was used to wear, but it was certainly an improvement from the translucent silks he’d donned since his arrival.

He began to undo the safe of his ornate sterling belt, but stopped himself when he remembered Tistan’s presence, and an awkward, warm itch began crawling up his neck. The lordling seemed to realize it too, and made an understanding face before turning his back on Aaru to give him some privacy. From what he’d gathered so far, the Sunset folk were normally unbothered by most forms of nudity, and even their usual garments tended to show more skin than what they covered. Aaru added it to the ever-growing list of differences between their peoples.

He’d nearly finished tying the laces of his sandal when the echoing sound of hurried steps coming from the corridor made them both turn toward the door. Instinctively, he jumped straight into sparring position, his hand settling on the hilt of his blade, but Tistan shook his head to indicate him to lower his guard.

The steps stopped before the door, and for a moment silence reigned over again. A single drop of sweat rolled down Aaru’s forehead. The door opened.

“Your grace!” Taodie’s voice came out in a high-pitched gasp, followed by his own sigh of relief as her image emerged where he’d been ready to see a helmeted head. The woman entered and made sure no one had followed her before closing the door. Could it be that she was in on whatever Tistan was planning? Aaru would have not found it odd.

Taodie made an incredulous face and waved her arms. “Your grace, what are you doing here?” Tistan’s response was a blank expression and icy silence, which only appeared to fuel her desperation. Perhaps the woman wasn’t in on it after all, which would have explained why Tistan had turned to him in the first place

“Lady Verise has ordered the guards not to let you out of the manse, they’re looking for you all over,” she squealed, and a dry laugh escaped Tistan’s lips. Then she pointed a finger in Aaru’s direction. “And by all the gods, what is _he_ doing with a sword on his hand?!”

Tistan remained silent for a moment, as if mulling over what to answer, or wondering if he would speak at all. Aaru could practically see the warring thoughts inside Tistan’s head. Finally, he stated simply: “The Sealord is dead.” Taodie’s eyes widened and from her mouth came a low whisper that Aaru couldn’t quite understand.

The lordling shot a quick glance at Aaru and bit his lip. “Taodie, I need to go… _somewhere_ ,” he announced vaguely

The woman opened her mouth, but said nothing. She, too, was hesitant. It occurred to Aaru that he still didn’t quite understand the scope of what they were getting into. Still, Taodie appeared to have made a choice of her own:

“What do you need me to do?”

It was agreed Taodie would distract the guards by claiming he was in the opposite side of the manse, while they took a concealed exit beneath the surface, which had apparently been Tistan’s original plan. When it was time for her to separate from them, she gave Aaru a hug and whispered in his ear: ‘ _keep him safe_ ’. A gnarling feeling of guilt settled in the pit of his stomach, which he quickly tried to dismiss, reminding himself he had a mission of its own. It didn’t work much, though, and the feeling stayed there.

Now just the two of them again, they returned to the dark passageway from which they’d come. At one point, the torches in the walls became so far in between that Tistan had to take one in his hand in order to see what was in front of them. Eventually they reached a small, musty room not unlike the one where Aaru had been confined before, which appeared to house nothing but empty wine barrels and broken wooden planks. There, hidden behind a ragged, discolored tapestry, was a heavy iron gate with a relief of the three-headed woman that Aaru had seen in the mural at the baths. Her three faces had placid expressions, and the central one was crowned with an upward-facing crescent moon.

“This manse has belonged to those of my line for nearly two centuries,” Tistan explained upon revealing the gate, addressing him for the first time since they’d left the armory. “It was built by Brache Dresaceri, as a gift to his daughter. She had this exit made, though no one is sure why. These days it’s been completely abandoned. It leads to Lochardo’s Alley.” From his robe, Tistan produced a large key, which appeared to be as old as the door itself, and crafted in the same metal. “I’ve found myself in gratitude to Ornai Dresaceri more than once,” he shrugged, before inserting the key and budging the door open.

For a brief moment, Aaru was blinded by the shining sunlight in his eyes, which were by then already accustomed to the dim fires of the torches. When his sight was back, he was met by a narrow street, bordered from both sides by tall walls of the same pale sandstone with which most of the city’s buildings appeared to be made. A series of stone arches extended from the walls on each side, giving the impression that the entire thoroughfare was a sort of sunlit tunnel, and providing a little shade from the unforgiving midday sun. A couple of passersby gave them odd glances, but went on their way directing them a word. Tistan looked around for a moment and sighed in relief.

“There’s still movement in the streets, so the news haven’t filtered down to the people yet. Hopefully the swords haven’t blocked the inner gates either,” he said, his lips curving upwards only slightly. “Remember, if anyone asks, you’re just my guard.”

Aaru nodded, though he did wonder whether it was all that uncommon for companions to act as bodyguards. Was he not keeping Tistan company right then? Perhaps his translation of the word was off, but then again, his knowledge of the city’s culture was deeply limited. He’d never met a man from Corienor before setting foot here, as the Sunset men who ventured to the ports of the Smoking Sea were usually from the eastern ends of the Vahay dominion.

It was midday, and from where they were Aaru could not tell where exactly the sea was, so he had no way to know in which direction they were going. Although Tistan seemed to know his way around more than well enough, Aaru still disliked the feeling of not knowing where he was or where he was headed. Tistan’s silence was hardly helpful either, but still not uncomfortable enough for him to ask on initiative.

Aaru noticed most of the buildings in the area were large and ornate, and there was no shortage of statues and trees growing behind stony walls. The people they saw in the street walked with the same dignified air and spoke in the same regal tone as Tistan, and when they passed by, they only looked at him, as if Aaru were completely invisible. Some of them appeared to recognize the lordling, and bowed slightly when they saw him, but Tistan either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Tistan had not lied when he said this part of the city had a sword on every corner. Unlike the ones in the manse, the guards out here had no collars, and they wore bronze helmets engraved with a sun. They bore longswords and some of them even had spears, and unlike the folks in silks they did seem to notice Aaru, eyeing him with nasty stares. Was it the marks or the golden collar? He wasn’t sure, though he didn’t want to know either.

Eventually, the narrow alley disembogued into a wide street filled with colorful tents, from which merchants loudly announced their trades and spoke of numbers and offers. Some of them sold flowers or fruits, and a couple offered jewels and pottery. _You can do it now_. Aaru scanned the area for any quick exits, and his heart began pounding too fast for his liking. He didn’t want to make a scene. Tistan stopped for a moment and turned to him.

“The Old Quarter is over there,” he pointed towards one end of the street. “Stick close to me and keep your eyes open. The swords don’t have as much of a presence there; you’ve got gold around your neck and I wear my name in my sleeve, so we ought to be careful.” Aaru nodded wordlessly and tried to keep his nerves from showing.

They continued walking until they reached a large wall with an arched gate as tall as five men stacked on top of each other. On either side of it, statues of bearded men with stern faces stood imposingly, as if waiting for anyone to act out of place to come alive and serve as wardens of the law. Just under the gate, a small crowd had gathered and blocked the way. Aaru heard Tistan curse under his breath.

“They’re starting to block the gate. Stay behind me,” he ordered, before quickening his pace and diving into the mass of bodies. Aaru’s stomach turned. He could do it. He could escape right there: the lordling had his back to him and pandemonium was ensuing. No one would notice him. He was armed. He could do it, why was he hesitating?

_Why wouldn’t he do it?_

“Shit.” He followed Tistan right into the crowd.

All around them the assembled crowd yelled dissonantly in confusion. Cries of “what is happening?” abounded, mixed with angry curses in words he didn’t understand as they bumped against people to move towards the gate. Tistan nearly escaped Aaru’s sight a couple of times, but the young lord’s bright saffron robe was hard to miss. When they finally reached the gate, they were stopped by a thick cordon of shielded guards blocking the way, as Tistan had feared. On the other side, another crowd was beginning to form.

“The quarter is closed!” one of the guards kept yelling, “No one may pass!”

With a wave of his hand, Tistan motioned for Aaru to get closer. The young lord approached one of the guards and spoke to him, though with all the noise Aaru couldn’t catch what he’d said. He saw the guard shake his head and motion for him to back away, but the lordling stood firmly planted where he was. Another exchange of words followed, this time louder, and Aaru heard as Tistan raised his voice with indignity.

“I am Dresaceri! You will let me through or I’ll have you stripped of all rank!” Some of the onlookers turned at once, and the man made a hesitant face before leaning into the guard beside him. Aaru’s nerves were making the collar feel smaller than usual, and his fist encroached even harder around the hilt of his sword. The two guards exchanged a few words, and after a couple of loaded moments that felt like a whole hour to Aaru, the men parted their shields to let him and Tistan through, earning some insults from those around them. Once at the other side, they slid through the – considerably smaller – group of people that had formed there.

The change in scenery was rather jarring. The aptly named Old Quarter was filled with buildings of pale stone and cracked walls. The ground was missing tiles all over, and there were less trees and plants than on the other side. But what impacted Aaru the most was the amount of people, many of them pushing carts or riding horses in all directions; the streets were crammed. The road was even wider here, and on each side there were tenfold more merchant tents, with a much greater variety of products to offer. Off in the distance, a couple of large domes rose up against the sky, one of them golden and shining as if with a light of its own, the other of a vivid turquoise that blended with the cloudless horizon.

“Aaru, come on!” Tistan called, already having taken off. Aaru stayed put for a moment, looking back at the crowd they’d just left behind. Taodie’s words resonated in his head: _no runaway makes it past the city walls, child_. Corienor was a beast Aaru didn’t think he could tame. When he went back to follow Tistan, he did so less begrudgingly than he’d hoped.

The young lord was breathing harshly and his hands were shaking, but his pace didn’t slow down in the slightest. At least Aaru wasn’t the only one overtaken with nerves.

“Vaelo’s temple down this street,” Tistan said, his voice cracking from exhaustion. “That’s where we’re going. Don’t trail behind.”

Aaru noticed most of the people of this quarter didn’t wear the same sort of glossy, colorful silks or the precious metals and jewels that Tistan wore. Indeed, many of them reminded Aaru of the pirates that had taken him here: faces hardened by the wind and skins darkened by the inclement sun. The Sunset men were seafarers first and foremost, and the people here were more like the sailors he’d seen near his own lands before.

As they made their way down the ample thoroughfare, the pair earned stares and turned heads, and the lack of guards that Tistan had mentioned didn’t escape Aaru either. Preemptively, Aaru’s hand never left the sword hanging from his hip.

After a while, they arrived to a large, hexagonal clear area, centered by a statue in the image of a young man with long hair and a joyful face, bearing a stringed instrument on one hand and a flask of wine on the other. Crowns of flowers were laid at its feet, and a couple of people were knelt on the floor before it, apparently not minding the sun or the heat. Around the statue, and aligned with each of the six points of the clearing, stood tall poles from which golden drapes hung not unlike the sails of a ship. _Gold_. Everything in this damned city was made of gold.

Tistan stopped as when passed in front of the statue and exhaled audibly. “That’s Vaelo, patron of wine and music.” Aaru eyed the figure and the people praying to it on the floor. If there was to be a god for those two things, he thought, it was only fitting he showed a happy face. “And that,” Tistan pointed to a building on the other side of the hexagon, “is his temple.”

Aaru sighed, somewhat relieved that they had finally arrived to their destination, but still ticked by the same fact. His hesitance to run away earlier never stopped nagging him for a second, and the voices of the mountains in his dream tortured him as if he were only proving them right. _Undeserving_. At least he hadn’t needed to use his sword yet.

The Temple of Vaelo was a circular grey building of with a low, conical roof made of opaque red tiles. The pillars outside were adorned with dried-up vines and pieces of red, orange and yellow fabric, and the walls were full of relieves showing people in various states of emotional extremity: joy, anger, distress, sadness, all portrayed by the motionless faces like a cyclic story engraved in stone. A set of curved steps stood between them and the entrance, which was flanked by small water fountains and wide open. The latter fact made Aaru do a double take, as the lack of doors was a noticeable deviation from the rest of the buildings he’d seen so far. Before crossing the temple’s threshold, he turned back to face the statue outside and the cityscape.

_I’m really doing this._

The first thing Aaru noticed as they entered the temple was the music; a low tune immersed the entire place in a dream-like state. He couldn’t help but look around to try to find the source of the wondrous sound, but it was nowhere to be found. Light came through a gallery of circular windows in the ceiling.

In the center of the complex, elevated on a marble plinth, was what appeared to be a pool upon which small candles floated around. Only a few people pullulated around the place, most of them wearing robes in shades of dark red and brown. One of them, a young girl, instantly noticed them, and approached Tistan with a kind expression.

“My gracious lord,” the girl bowed low, “how may I be of service to you?”

Tistan sighed and ran a hand through his hair; a habit that Aaru was beginning to notice manifested when the lordling was nervous. “I’m looking for Charie Thebardai. Can you take us to her?”

The girl made a surprised face, but nodded nonetheless and motioned for them to follow her across the temple. As they walked, some of the people gave them odd stares, of the same kind they’d received in the streets outside, and a couple of maroon-clad youths, who appeared to serve in the temple, started to whisper among each other, adding fire to Aaru’s uneasy mood.

They were guided behind a half-closed door which led to a long, candle-lit room that smelt of ash and dust. Inside it was a maze of wooden stands, holding hundreds of thousands of paper scrolls. Aaru eyed the collection with amazement. He recalled a wandering merchant who visited Bataajhang once, selling scrolls with texts and drawings from both East and West, Aaru had paid them little mind, as he didn’t know how what to make of the symbols scribbled on the dusty paper. _Arandaaru_ , the tongue of the plainsmen, didn’t have a writing system of its own.

At the end of the room, a man and a woman, both young and dressed like the girl, sat at a small table. The woman was writing something down with a quill, while the man, who wore a collar around his neck, recited words aloud for her. Neither of them noticed Aaru and Tistan’s intrusion.

“Lady Charie,” the girl called, prompting the woman to look up from her task. “A visitor is seeking you.” _A visitor_ , not two.

Lady Charie, as she’d been addressed, gave them both the once-over and smiled warmly at Tistan, apparently unsurprised by his presence. Her hair was dark and curly, and tied into a single, thick braid, and her face was beautiful and mysterious.  She thanked the girl, who bowed again before leaving, and stood up from her chair. The collared man emulated her, and both bowed before Tistan in a complex choreography of time-wasting formalities. Aaru bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to calm down.

“My lord Dresaceri,” the woman greeted. “You grace the house of our patron with your presence.”

Tistan nodded curtly. “Thank you, my lady,” he said. “Please do forgive me for being so straightforward, but I’m sure you can imagine why I’m here.”

The woman shared a look with the collared man and cleared her throat. “Ardo’s festival begins tomorrow, my lord.” Aaru frowned and waited attentively for Tistan’s response. He truly had no idea what these people were talking about.

Tistan exhaled tiredly. “There’s been a… change of plans, I’m afraid. The Sealord has been assassinated. The swords are blocking every gate in the city as we speak.” He paused, as if to allow the woman to process the apparently shocking information, but her response was just a deadpan expression.

She turned to Aaru and regarded him with a kind smile, effectively becoming the first person other than Tistan to acknowledge him so far, though when she spoke, she only addressed the young lord. “Come with me, please.”  

Tistan gave Aaru a questioning look, as if asking if he’d be alright on his own.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, trying to conjure all the confidence he could despite not being certain of his own words at all. Tistan nodded and only then did he follow the woman down the hall towards the door from which they’d come, leaving Aaru alone with the collared man. Was he supposed to just wait now?

The man sat back down and invited Aaru to occupy the empty seat. “You don’t look too well, friend.” His voice was calm and mellow, and he lacked the regal accent Tistan and Lady Charie spoke with. Only then did Aaru’s noticed the his peculiar appearance: he sported a shaved head, in the fashion of the sentries of Qarajhangaak – not unlike he’d worn himself before his capture – and in deference with the rest of the Sunset men, who favored long manes of wavy hair. His eyes were a dark sort of grey, and upon closer inspection, Aaru saw the skin around his collar had acquired a greenish tint. _Copper_. He’d never seen a copper collar before.

“I’m good,” said Aaru, and then bit his lip. The lie was too evident to hold. The constant tapping of his feet against the floor was enough to tell something was wrong. A thousand thoughts attempted to lead his mind in different directions. It was easy to ignore it all when he was out in the streets trying to keep an eye out for any potential threat, but now that he was supposedly safe and motionless, Aaru felt a short leap away from unraveling.

The man looked unconvinced, but didn’t push it any further. Instead, he took the quill on his hand and started to write on the same scroll that Lady Charie had been using, while reading silently from another paper next to it.

“I’m called Gilas,” the man said, without diverting his attention from the paper. “Do you have a name?”

“Aaru,” he responded, slightly impressed that the man could stir up conversation, read, and write all at the same time.

“That’s quite an odd name you’ve got there. Then again, it could be very common where you come from,” Gilas stated plainly. “Where _do_ you come from, Aaru?”

Aaru swallowed spit nervously and toyed with the hilt of his sword. “You ask many questions,” he said. “I come from… far away. East.”

Gilas chuckled. “To a Vahay man, everything is ‘East’. But you’re right, I do like to ask questions, Aaru. I like to ask questions to interesting people, and you look like an interesting man.” He finally looked up and gave Aaru a curious stare. “An interesting man who belongs to an even more interesting man.”

It took Aaru a good amount of willpower not to draw his sword right then. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

The man flashed a sympathetic smile and resumed his writing. “We all belong to someone, Aaru from the East,” he said, “even those without a collar to show for it.”

Aaru shot the man a dry look. “And you? Who do you belong to?”

Gilas hummed. “I belong to the Unpolluted Vaelo, who quenches thirsts and brings joy to aching hearts. My master is master to a thousand lineages, of freemen and slaves alike,” he recited, as if quoting from a poem, or an ancient hymn. “Did you see his statue outside? Most temples have statues of their gods within their walls, but not the Unpolluted. His image graces every passerby, for he takes in anyone, regardless of their name or patron. My master is kind to me, Aaru. Is your master kind to you?”

Aaru looked down. Was there even an answer to that? He didn’t think Tistan was an evil person, not anymore. But Tistan was his _master_ , a man who _owned people_. Was this not what constituted evil in a person?

“Tistan is…” he struggled to find the right words. What _was_ Tistan? “He doesn’t want me, and I don’t want him. We’re stuck with each other,” said Aaru, using the lordling’s own expression. He guessed that was not the right way to respond to Gilas’s question, and the man raised his eyebrow, as if waiting for a follow-up. But when Aaru said nothing, he simply smiled and went back to his scrolls. Aaru decided he didn’t like the copper-collared man. Fortunately, Gilas didn’t say anything else after that.

As time passed by, Aaru grew increasingly paranoid, and started to wonder if something had gone wrong with Tistan. As if taking after him, he ran a hand through his hair, which had grown too long for his liking, and breathed out in frustration.

_Curse you, Tistan Dresaceri. You better come back soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter so far. Was it good? Bad? Did it make you want to go back in time to stop yourself from learning how to read so you can avoid having ever laid eyes on this abomination of creative writing? Let me know in the comments, I'm very lonely.


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